

























































































































































































































































































































































































OLD TOWN CLOCK 

and 

OTHER STORIES 












YOU NEVER WOULD THINK THAT SO SLIGHT A MISTAKE 
WOULD CAUSE SO MUCH COMMOTION.— Page 11+. 
































































OLD TOWN CLOCK 

and 

OTHER STORIES 


BY 

REBA MAHAN STEVENS 

—- »> 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

FLORENCE LILEY YOUNG 



I * 
> » 
'i » > 


v> 


BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 























TZr 

. 5*4 

tin 


Copyright, 1931, 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 


All Rights Reserved 


Old Town Clock and Other Stories 


’ « 
* 


PRINTED IN U. S. A. 


SEP 18 1931 

©CIA 


42442 




All these stories appeared in the Christian 
Science Monitor , and Author and Publisher join 
in grateful acknowledgment of the courteously 
granted privilege of their further use in this book. 




CONTENTS 


Old Town Clock. 

What Came out of the Willow Basket . 
The Adventure of Benny, the Boy Doll . 

Adventure of a Sleepy-Head. 

The Humdrum Family. 

Little March Wind. 

In Peter’s Clock Shop. 

Little Pine Tree’s Wish. 

Polly Prism’s Secret. 

Christmas in the Forest. 

Danny Duck Gives his Mother a Present . 
Mr. Pettigrew’s Christmas. 


PAGE 

1 1 

22 

35 

46 

59 

73 

84 

96 

108 

120 

131 

143 


7 


































ILLUSTRATIONS 


You never would think that so slight a mistake 
would cause so much commotion. (Page 14) 

Frontispiece 

PAGE 

Feeling this piece and that.32 

“I shall never be so careless again” .... 43 

A King and Queen—on a marvelous throne . . 49 

They came back with their arms full .... 69 

He darted up behind.79 

Big clocks, little clocks, and middle-sized clocks . 86 

Dancing and singing about Little Pine Tree . . 106 

“Where did it come from 4 ?”.114 

Oh, but it was a beautiful tree!.127 

“A fine family you have there, Mrs. Duck” . . 142 

“You like pictures, do you 4 ?”.146 


9 



















OLD TOWN CLOCK 

“ONE-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight- 
nine!” came the voice of Old Town Clock 
from his home high up in the belfry of the 
Court House. He was telling the townspeople 
that it was nine o’clock, just as he had for 
many and many a year told them each hour and 
half-hour as it passed. 

No pleasanter spot in all the wide world 
was there than the place where Old Town 
Clock had his home. Right in the center of the 
town, with the shops gathered closely about 
him, he could see all the interesting things 
that went on there, and could look, too, far out 
over the town—this way and that—to where 
trees, and houses, and gardens lay. 


ii 


12 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


The pigeons, great flocks of them, nested on 
the roof at his feet, and cooed and pecked 
about in the friendliest way. All the breezes 
swept gayly around him, and he felt near to 
the sky and near the people, too, did honest 
Old Town Clock. And so, as he had done time 
and time again, he told them all, in clear, ring¬ 
ing tones, “One-two-three-four-five-six-seven- 
eight-nine,” this lovely sunny morning. 

But scarcely had he settled back into quiet¬ 
ness when the strangest fancy took possession 
of his funny old head. Looking down on the 
busy square where all sorts of people were bus¬ 
tling about, getting started on the day’s work, 
he fell to thinking that, although he could see 
them all quite plainly, yet he could not hear 
their voices, and that not one of them ever 
took the trouble to speak to him, anyway. They 
did not even look up at him unless they wanted 
to know the time, and then they were apt to 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


13 

shade their eyes and squint and scowl instead 
of giving him the same smiles he saw them give 
each other. 

“No,” he thought, grumpily, “they don’t 
care much about me after all, I guess.” 

Poor Old Town Clock! From that he went 
on and on. He bethought himself that although 
he had served the community long and well, 
no one had ever taken the pains to tell him so. 
No one ever climbed the long stairs to visit 
him; no one had ever hung a flag on him as they 
often did on the bronze statue that stood in the 
yard below. In fact, Old Town Clock was so 
busy feeling sorry for himself that when the 
time came to strike the half-hour he entirely 
overlooked it; and when ten o’clock rolled 
around, he was so upset and befuddled that 
he gave a few ugly rattles deep in his throat 
and banged out, “One-two-three-four-five-six- 
seven-eight-nine-ten-eleven!” 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


14 

Well, well, you never would think that so 
slight a mistake would cause so much commo¬ 
tion! Down on the square, a man carrying a 
traveling-bag stopped suddenly in surprise, 
then started running to catch a street car; the 
boy who was driving the delivery wagon 
flapped the lines excitedly over his horse’s back 
and rattled down the street at a great rate; 
three children who were looking in at a shop 
window turned quickly and scampered away; a 
messenger boy, trundling slowly along on a 
bicycle, speeded up and was soon out of sight; 
a lady, about to enter a shop door, turned round 
and walked briskly down a side street. All 
about the square, men and women who were go¬ 
ing about their business in one way and an¬ 
other began to step faster and hurry along as 
though some one had pulled tiny strings to 
which they were all attached. 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


15 

People looked out of upstairs office win¬ 
dows; clerks came to doorways, staring upward 
in amazement, then laughing good-naturedly 
as though some one had played them an excel¬ 
lent joke. Telephone bells in the Court House 
rang furiously, and from all over the town came 
the question: “What is the matter with the 
town clock’?” 

What, indeed, was the matter with Old 
Town Clock? 

Well, whatever it was, it did not change for 
the better but grew worse. At noon he gave a 
few, hoarse growls; at one o’clock, a harsh 
grating sound came from his deep throat; and 
after that, for days and days, Old Town Clock 
refused to make a sound or say a word, by day 
or by night. 

The man from across the street, who sold 
clocks and watches, came over and poked 


16 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

about among the wheels and weights, but left 
without helping matters. 

“It is too big a job for me,” he declared, shak¬ 
ing his head. 

The clock-man from the other side of the 
square came, and went away saying the same 
thing. 

So Tom the Janitor set to work to see what 
he could do. Every spare hour of each day he 
busied himself, oiling and polishing, tighten¬ 
ing a screw here and loosening another there, 
gently trying the springs, carefully prodding 
and prying about for dust and dirt, rubbing 
and scouring away every tiniest bit of rust that 
had gathered. 

“Old fellow,” he said often as he worked at 
his lonely job, “I’d just like to know what- 
ever’s the matter with you. Here you’ve been 
working for this town ever since I was a boy, 
and then all of a sudden you quit—without 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 17 

giving notice! That’s no way to do. You ought 
to be ashamed of yourself, you ought!” 

But even such a sharp scolding did not start 
Old Town Clock going about his business. It 
was on another lovely sunshiny morning a 
week later that he began work—and this was 
the way of it. 

Tom the Janitor was high up in the windy 
belfry poking about as he had done for so many 
days, trying hard to find out what might be the 
trouble, when up the steep stairway came a 
young man, whistling gayly. 

“Hello, Tom!” he called out from the top 
step. He had the jolliest voice, and the pleas¬ 
antest grin as he dusted the cobwebs off his 
shoulders. “How are you getting along? 
Found out yet what’s the matter?” 

“No,” Tom told him, “I haven’t. I have done 
everything I can think of, but this old fellow 
refuses to start running. He’s beaten me! Can’t 


i8 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


you suggest something? A smart young man 
who works on a newspaper and hears every¬ 
thing that is going on ought to be able to fur¬ 
nish some ideas to help out.” 

The young man laughed, and his laugh was 
so hearty that three gray pigeons who had ven¬ 
tured quite close in their friendly curiosity 
flew away in a hurry. 

“No, Tom, I’m afraid I’m not much good on 
clocks. If I were, I’d surely do my best, for I 
miss this one more than I can tell you. Why, 
he’s one of my best friends! More than once I 
should have been late back to the office if he 
hadn’t struck the hour so loud and clear that I 
couldn’t overlook it.” 

“Same with me!” agreed Tom the Janitor. 

“You should see some of the letters we have 
over at the office asking what is the matter with 
Old Town Clock,” went on the young man 
earnestly. “From all over town—all sorts of 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


19 

people. The Boss is going to print some of 
them to-morrow. 

“There’s a letter from Old Bob, who’s been 
night watchman for years. He says he never 
minded his work before, never felt lonely at 
all, because he had the big clock to keep him 
company; but if it isn’t fixed soon, any one who 
wants it can have his job. And that singer, fa¬ 
mous all over the country, who gave a concert 
here the other night, told the editor that she 
was disappointed not to hear the old clock 
striking as it did when she was in town a couple 
of years ago. She says his voice has a wonderful 
tone and she has always remembered it.” 

“Well, well!” exclaimed Tom the janitor 
proudly, “this old fellow certainly is popular, 
isn’t he? I tell you what, if I had as many 
friends as this clock has, I’m afraid my head 
would be turned entirely—it would, so it 
would!” 


20 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 

Rattle-rattle; wheeze-wheeze; jerkity-jerk; 
tick-tock; tick-tock; one-two-three-four-five- 
six-seven-eight-nine-ten! 

Yes, it actually was, it really was, it was, it 
was Old Town Clock going again! 

“Well, now, do you hear that? Do you just 
hear that?” gasped the surprised Tom. “What 
in the world did I do to start him off like that, 
Ld like to know—I would, so I would!” 

“Yes, and striking right, too—exactly on 
the dot!” exclaimed the young man, looking 
at his watch. “Hooray!” and he threw his cap 
up into the air and never minded a bit that it 
came down covered with cobwebs. 

So, without the least explanation to any one 
for his strange behavior, Old Town Clock went 
happily about his work again, feeling very 
foolish that he had ever left off. Every time 
now when he struck the hour or half-hour, he 
knew that some one, somewhere out in the 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


21 


town, was listening for it, so he kept his voice 
as clear and sweet as a clock’s could possibly 
be, and sent his message ringing out, out, far 
and wide, thinking so much about the busy 
people who were waiting for it that he quite 
forgot himself. 


WHAT CAME OUT OF THE 
WILLOW BASKET 

SINA BELL had not the faintest idea when 
she went across the Ridge to spend the week at 
Aunt Melissa’s farm that she would come home 
bringing six yellow ducklings shut tight in a 
willow basket. But so it came about. 

“Hold them carefully, daughter,” cautioned 
her father. “Riding on Old Nell is almost like 
swinging in a cradle, I know; but even so, your 
ducks may think it rough going.” 

Sina Bell did hold them carefully. 

“Be quiet, little ducklings!” she said gently, 
over and over again, when the ups and downs 
of the hill road set them quacking excitedly. 


22 


THE WILLOW BASKET 


23 

“You are all right. Peep through the cracks and 
see how blue the sky is—and the trees and blos¬ 
soms—” 

Sina Bell wrinkled up her small nose and 
drew in deep breaths of the spring air, sweet- 
scented with the bloom of wild plum and locust 
trees. 

“Isn’t the world nice!” she thought happily, 
as she rode slowly through all this sweetness 
of a Kentucky springtime, following behind 
Father on his big gray mount, going home to 
Mother, with her six yellow ducklings in the 
willow basket. 

“Is my bag safe, Father—quite safe 4 ?” she 
called ahead to him, suddenly remembering 
something that was tucked away in its depths. 
“It isn’t slipping loose—it won’t get lost, 
will it 4 ?” 

Father’s laugh was good to hear. 

“Perfectly safe, my daughter. What makes 


24 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

it so extra precious, I wonder, now that it is on 
the way home?” 

But that was Sina Bell’s secret which she was 
not going to tell, even to her father. 

“It is a wonder, though,” she thought, “that 
he has not smelled it;” and she fell to counting 
over all the delicious spicy things that had 
gone into the little round cake which she had 
baked all by herself to take home to Mother. 

“It’s only a little gift, but Mother will like 
it because I made it. Next year, though—” and 
quite abruptly she gave the basket such a joy¬ 
ous pat that the ducklings set up a perfect bab¬ 
ble of quacks, and Old Nell started forward 
into an awkward lope. 

“Whoa, Nell! Don’t be in a hurry!” laughed 
Sina Bell, bringing the old horse back to a 
slower pace. “We shall have to wait a whole 
year, you know. Aunt Melissa said—” 

Her thought drifted back to the afternoon 


THE WILLOW BASKET 25 

when she had sat with Aunt Melissa on the 
sunny porch sewing quilt patches. Then it was 
that the little cake had been planned, down to 
the last plump raisin. 

“Mother will be pleased, I am sure,” she 
had said, and then with a tiny wistful sigh had 
added, “but I do wish I could earn some money 
of my own and buy Mother a really, truly, store 
present!” 

Aunt Melissa smiled cheerfully. 

“Money of your own?” she repeated. “Why, 
of course. Every person in the world should 
have a purse of his own—and something in it, 
too. Haven’t you?” 

“Oh, yes!” was the quick reply. “Father 
gives me ten coppers each week. But I want 
really to earn money. Mother has her butter, 
and eggs, and fowls—Tom sells his pop-corn. 
But I don’t have anything to do.” 

“Well, well,” said Aunt Melissa, brightly, 


26 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

“we mustn’t be in the doldrums about it! 
There is surely something for you, too. Let’s 
see—let’s see—” and she stopped stitching, 
and sat gazing thoughtfully out across the 
meadow. Presently she gave a quick laugh. 

“I have it—I have it!” she cried. “How 
would you like to raise ducks?” 

Sina Bell’s face clouded with disappoint¬ 
ment. 

“Father doesn’t like ducks,” she said. “We 
don’t keep ducks at our farm.” 

Aunt Melissa laughed gayly. 

“Since there are none there, that’s the very 
reason you should start with them. They are 
different, you see, and won’t be getting mixed 
with your mother’s turkeys, and guineas, and 
chickens. I know your father hasn’t thought he 
wanted ducks on the farm, but it will be quite 
another story when he finds that you want to 
raise them as your part of the family business.” 




THE WILLOW BASKET 


27 

It turned out to be another story, indeed, for 
when Father came riding over at the end of her 
visit, they found he liked the plan more than 
a little. 

Great was the excitement when Sina Bell, in 
the midst of her family, opened the willow 
basket. 

“What are you going to do with them?” 
asked Tom, teasingly. 

“Just let them eat, and grow,” he was told. 
“Next spring they will lay eggs, and I shall sell 
them to any one who wants duck eggs to set.” 

“Oh, so that’s it, is it? Well, what will you 
do with all your money?” 

Then he gave a long whistle, and answered 
his own question: “It wouldn’t take a very 
clever person to guess what you will buy with 
it. Haven’t I heard you tell what you want 
more than anything else? I know! A blue silk 
parasol! Isn’t that it?” 


28 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

But Sina Bell only pursed up her small 
mouth at that, and left Master Tom to figure 
out as best he might what a girl would be doing 
with her duck money. 

It was a long year to wait, but it was a busy 
one, for never had ducks more careful tending 
than the six which lived in the pasture behind 
the dairy barns; and never did ducks do more 
to repay it. Great white beauties they were, by 
early springtime, with clean, roomy nests all 
ready and waiting. What a day it was when 
Sina Bell came racing in from the pen, carrying 
the first egg. 

“You’d think it was the golden egg the goose 
laid in the fairy tale!” joked Tom. 

“It is a golden egg!” cried Sina Bell, tri¬ 
umphantly. “It is a golden egg!” 

No one had shown more interest in the duck¬ 
lings than had their neighbor, Farmer Hop- 


THE WILLOW BASKET 


29 

kins. When first he saw them, he exclaimed at 
their beauty, and time and time again he had 
been down to the pasture to see how they were 
coming on. Now, when he saw the eggs that 
were being added, day by day, to the basket in 
the storeroom, he laughed and said to Sina 
Bell’s mother, “Your daughter and I have a 
little secret about those eggs which we must 
tell you. The first time I saw her ducklings I 
knew they were of a breed which I was hoping 
to get hold of, and I made a contract with her 
to take all the eggs she had to spare this spring.” 

“Contract” was a very big word, it seemed 
to Sina Bell, but just the same she knew per¬ 
fectly well what Farmer Hopkins meant by it. 

No one could possibly have felt more impor¬ 
tant than Sina Bell when she rode over each 
week to deliver the eggs to Farmer Hopkins; 
and it would have been hard to find anybody in 


3 o OLD TOWN CLOCK 

all the world more completely filled with sim¬ 
ple contentment than Mammy Lou, the faith¬ 
ful colored maid, trundling along behind on 
her white mule, Joey. 

Week by week the money box in Sina Bell’s 
bureau grew heavier, and clinked more en¬ 
couragingly. Of all the trips that she and 
Mammy Lou ever took together, by far the most 
wonderful was the one to Mr. Kinkaid’s store 
when the treasure in the money box had grown 
to a size that satisfied her. Jogging along 
through the sunshine, Mammy Lou’s happiness 
overflowed into snatches of song and gay re¬ 
marks of all sorts. 

“I ’spect some one sure will look powerful 
sweet under a little blue par’sol!” she teased. 
“I cal’ate we all gwine to ’pear mighty splen¬ 
diferous ridin’ back home! I hope to goodness 
Joey knows his manners about blue par’sols. 


THE WILLOW BASKET 


3i 

’Low he never saw one. ’Low he gwine to see 
one ’fore he gets a day older! How ’bout it, 
honey chile?” And she chuckled softly to her¬ 
self. 

It may have been that Sina Bell did not hear 
—at any rate, she made no reply. 

Once inside the store, Mammy Lou ambled 
over to the counter on which was spread out a 
very rainbow of small silk parasols. “See, 
honey—” she began, but found she was talk¬ 
ing only to the parasols, for Sina Bell had 
stopped at another counter and, very pink in 
the face, was making her wishes known to Mr. 
Kinkaid. 

“It is not for myself,” Mammy Lou heard 
her say. “It is for my mother. I want a very good 
piece, if you please, sir.” 

Mammy Lou stood rooted to the spot, watch¬ 
ing Sina Bell examine the rolls of lovely silk, 


32 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


FEELING THIS PIECE AND THAT 



feeling this piece and that, holding them to the 
light, trying them between her hands, in the 
most grown-up manner imaginable. 


























THE WILLOW BASKET 


33 

When at last the choice was made, and the 
length cut off and wrapped up, Mr. Kinkaid 
said kindly, “You must feel pretty proud, I 
should think, buying a silk apron for your 
mother.” 

“I do,” answered Sina Bell, with shining 
eyes. 

Riding home, down the fragrant roads, 
Mammy Lou was silent for a long time, deep in 
thought, but, by and by, she burst into a very 
jubilee of song. 

“Here we are—here we are home again!” 
she said with a tremendous sigh of gladness, 
when finally they turned into the lane. “And 
nobody’s missed that blue par’sol one little 
mite! I tell you what, honey—some folks don’t 
need little blue par’sols to set them off. Some 
folks is jes’ naturally so sweet they don’t need 
nothin’ but their own pretty thoughts to fix up 
in, week day or Sunday!” 


34 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

It was many years ago—that day when Sina 
Bell rode home so happily with the first pre¬ 
cious gift for her mother. The little blue para¬ 
sol, though it came to be her own later, has 
long since faded, and frayed, and been cast 
aside. But the memory of her mother’s smile 
when she laid in her hands the little bundle, 
and the remembrance of the glad feeling of 
content in her own heart can never fray, nor 
fade, nor wear away. 


THE ADVENTURE OF BENNY, 
THE BOY DOLL 

BENNY, the boy doll, was lost. At least 
that was what every one was saying. The first 
to say it was Jane. When she went in to put her 
dolls away for the night, she came running to 
tell Mother that Benny was nowhere to be 
found—he was lost! Next, Mother, when she 
met Father in the hallway, told him that Benny 
was lost, and within a few minutes Father had 
passed the news on to Grandmother—Benny 
was lost! Everybody hunted for him, of course 
—out on the front porch, the side porch, the 
back porch; and Father even felt his way 
through the darkness about the swing. 

But when Benny could not be found, Mother 


35 


36 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

told Jane that she must wait patiently until 
morning came, and then she would surely find 
him. So Jane tucked each doll into its wee bed 
in the playroom, and on her way to her own 
little bed she stopped by the porch door and 
looked out into the soft darkness. 

“Good night, Benny dear,” she said gently, 
“wherever you are, I love you.” 

And out in the dewy grass, suddenly Benny 
felt warm and comfortable and contented. 

At first, when he found that every one had 
gone into the house for the night and left him 
behind, there had come to him a queer little 
feeling of loneliness, such as might come to 
any one who had been tucked into a pasteboard 
bed each night as long as he could remember, 
with a row of dolls on either side. And later, 
when he heard voices passing, and each one 
saying that he was lost, he had another uncom- 


ADVENTURE OF BENNY 37 

fortable moment, for never in his life had 
Benny had an experience like this. 

But, by and by, he said to himself, “I don’t 
see how I can be lost when I know where I am!” 
and lay quite still, turning this over in his 
mind. “No, I don’t think I am lost. I think I 
must be having an adventure.” 

And having come to this conclusion, he de¬ 
cided to have the very best adventure possible, 
to lose not one pleasant thing of all that might 
be going to happen to him. 

After a while the last light went out in the 
house, and that might have been rather dis¬ 
turbing except that he remembered in time that 
this was a part of his adventure. When there 
were no lights in the windows to look at, he 
turned his eyes up to the sky, and the beautiful 
sight he saw there sent a quiver of delight 
through him. Stars and stars and stars, twin- 


38 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

kling and shining—lovely beyond anything he 
had ever dreamed. And the moon was there, 
a silver crescent, swung down like a doll’s ham¬ 
mock made of silver. 

More than once Benny had wished for eyes 
that opened and shut like the eyes of the little 
girl dolls which belonged to Jane. It had 
seemed quite fascinating to him to watch them 
laid in their beds and see their eyes go tightly 
shut with a click, and then see them open wide 
the moment they were set up again. It must be 
very pleasant, he thought, and often he felt a 
bit ashamed that his own blue eyes were im¬ 
movable, and, sitting up or lying down, they 
were always wide open. But to-night he was 
glad, glad clear through that this was so. Not 
for anything would he have had his eyes go 
shut so that he could not look up at this wonder¬ 
ful sky filled with stars above him. 

When he had looked at the stars for a long 


ADVENTURE OF BENNY 39 

time and was really beginning to think it would 
be a good idea to count them, he began to no¬ 
tice the noises all about him. First, the crickets 
with their cheery chirrup, chirrup, chirrup—it 
was such a contented little song. 

Benny had no idea what a cricket was, but he 
liked the sound nevertheless, and he felt sure 
that it must come from a very friendly some 
one. He liked the locusts, too. For a long time 
he listened to the call he heard: “Katy did, 
Katy didn’t; Katy did, Katy didn’t,” and he 
liked it immensely, for some reason. Later, not 
far away, from a tall tree came a solemn 
“Whoo! Whoo!” It was quite the loudest 
sound that Benny had heard, and a bit startling 
just at first, but he soon found himself liking it, 
too. 

He liked the rustling of the leaves when the 
wind stirred them; he liked the creaking of the 
empty swing; and once in a while when an ap- 



OLD TOWN CLOCK 


40 

pie came thumping to the ground, he liked that 
best of all, for somehow it made him think 
quickly of Jane. Once a cat he knew quite well 
came through the yard and stopped to sniff 
about him. Later, a prowling dog did the same. 
And he grew excited beyond words when a tiny 
mouse came his way and went feeling all about 
him with its tiny whiskered nose. 

In the very middle of the night, a big, gray 
cloud came across the sky and hid the stars from 
him for a while. But when it had dropped a 
gentle shower of raindrops it went gliding 
away again, and there were the stars as bright 
as ever. 

“What a wonderful adventure I am hav¬ 
ing!” Benny kept saying to himself. “I 
wouldn’t have missed it for anything! What a 
lot of things I shall have to tell the other dolls 
to-morrow.” 

Just when it seemed to him that surely no 


ADVENTURE OF BENNY 41 

other new thing could happen, just when he 
thought he had seen all the lovely things the 
night held, a soft glow began to spread over 
the eastern sky. Then a beautiful pinkness 
came, and then, almost before he knew it, there 
before his eyes was a sky filled with every ex¬ 
quisite color that ever was made. Many times 
Benny had seen the sunset as Jane sat on the 
porch and held him while she watched it. But 
this was not evening—and yet here was some¬ 
thing so very like the sunset that for a moment 
Benny was thoroughly puzzled. But by think¬ 
ing hard, at last he decided he had the problem 
solved. 

“Oh, now I see! 55 he told himself. “This is 
the other end of the sunset! 55 

And now the chickens were crowing! From 
all parts of the town came their vigorous, wak¬ 
ing songs. Benny had great fun listening to 
them. Big rooster bass voices, little rooster 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


42 

tenor voices, and all sorts of rooster voices were 
calling and answering in a perfect hubbub of 
welcome and good feeling. Benny had not 
known that there were so many chickens in all 
the world. 

Then came the milkman, then the morning 
paper, then men and boys whistling on their 
way to work. Doors were being opened, and 
“Good morning,” called across the street. And 
almost before he knew it, here was Jane snatch¬ 
ing him from the grass and hugging him to her. 

“Benny dear, I am so sorry that I lost you. I 
shall never be so careless again,” she told him 
over and over. 

But while she ate her breakfast, Benny, back 
in the playroom, had quite another story to tell 
the dolls who crowded around him. 

“I wasn’t lost, you know. It was just that you 
didn’t know where I was. How could I be lost 
when I knew all the time where I was? And I 


ADVENTURE OF BENNY 43 



“l SHALL NEVER BE SO CARELESS AGAIN” 


am not sorry—I am glad. It was a beautiful ad¬ 
venture!” 

“But weren’t you lonely, out there by your¬ 
self, all night?” asked the dainty bisque doll. 

“Lonely? Why, no, not a bit. Why should 
I be? Besides, I wasn’t alone. There were the 
stars, and all the singing things in the trees. 








44 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

Why, the night is just as full of nice things as 
the day, only, you see, we go fast asleep and do 
not know about them.” 

“But wasn’t it very dark?” was the next 
question. 

Benny looked surprised for a moment, and 
then he laughed. 

“Perhaps it was. But isn’t it funny—I forgot 
to think of that. It was a tremendous ad¬ 
venture, and I loved every minute of it.” 

And when all the dolls saw that he really 
meant what he said, they nodded their heads 
this way and that way in great admiration, and 
looked a little as though they wished that they, 
too, might be lost some night. 

“Yes,” Benny repeated, “it was certainly a 
wonderful adventure. I would not have missed 
it for anything in the world. Besides, I found 
out something.” 

Every doll, big and little, old and young, 


ADVENTURE OF BENNY 4 5 

pricked up its ears to hear what this bold ad¬ 
venturer had discovered. 

“Now I know,” Benny told them, “that the 
night is just the other side of the day.” And 
with that, although his eyes appeared to be 
wide open, he fell into a gentle sleep there in 
his cardboard bed, while all the dolls kept very 
still, that he might not be disturbed. 


ADVENTURE OF A SLEEPY-HEAD 


MOST surely if ever a little boy had a com¬ 
fortable bed and every reason for wanting to 
stay in it, that boy was Noddy. It was the 
plumpest bed, and the bounciest bed, and the 
snuggest bed imaginable—altogether as satis¬ 
factory a bed as could be found in a day’s jour¬ 
ney. In it, Noddy could turn on one side and 
look out into the tree tops, or he could turn the 
other way and see all over the garden, or he 
could lie quite still and look at nothing but the 
pretty flowered walls, and think sometimes, 
when he was not too sleepy, what a pleasant 
thing it was for a little boy to waken of a morn¬ 
ing in his own warm bed. 

Then, more often than not, Noddy squirmed 

about luxuriously, snuggled down, and was off 

46 


ADVENTURE OF SLEEPY-HEAD 47 

to sleep again. And that was just what he did 
on a certain morning, a sharp, crisp morning, 
when Mother had called up the stairway more 
than once, “Noddy! Noddy! Get up, my dear!” 
and again, “Noddy, son, hop out now—buck¬ 
wheat cakes for breakfast!” 

Noddy was torn between the desire to hurry 
down and eat the hot, siruped cakes, and the 
wish to stay cuddled in his cozy bed. He would 
get up—no, he wouldn’t get up just yet—in 
a few minutes—he really should get up right 
now—he didn’t want to, one bit—why— 

But before he knew it, Noddy was out and 
running along the hall. How very queer 
though—was it the hall? Just for a moment it 
had seemed so, but no, the hall at home did not 
have a row of white beds on either side; and 
surely, it had never been so wide and so long, so 
very long! 

“My! what a lot of beds!” thought Noddy, 



48 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

noticing, too, that they were beds, not with 
smoothly drawn counterpanes, but with small 
rounded humps in them, as though each held 
some one—perhaps a little boy. 

On and on went Noddy down the long hall, 
faster and faster, looking first to one side and 
then to the other, trying to count the beds as he 
went, until he brought up at the far end before 
a high platform, all glittering and velvety, 
upon which sat the King and Queen. Noddy 
knew that they were the King and Queen be¬ 
cause a large sign said so. “King” was printed 
quite plainly over the head of the jolly-looking 
fat man, and “Queen” was just as easy to read 
above the beautiful lady. 

No one could possibly have been more sur¬ 
prised than Noddy. A King and Queen—on a 
marvelous throne! But he remembered his man¬ 
ners in time and made a bow that seemed to be 
correct, for the King held out his scepter, and 


ADVENTURE OF SLEEPY-HEAD 49 

the Queen smiled and patted him on the head. 
When she stretched out her arm, all the jewels 



about her tinkled like soft, tiny bells, so that 
Noddy wished she would keep on moving for 
the sound was very sweet. 

Then the King, quite unexpectedly let his 
















































OLD TOWN CLOCK 


50 

smile slide away and said, in the most business¬ 
like manner, “You are late!” And the Queen 
looked at him sorrowfully and repeated, “You 
are late!” 

“But you may begin at once,” said the King, 
picking up his morning paper and searching 
through it for the weather report, just as Noddy 
had more than once seen his own father do. 

Begin at once? Noddy was puzzled. What¬ 
ever was he to begin, and how was he to begin 
it? He stood first on one foot and then on the 
other, fidgeting about as he always did when 
he couldn’t get the answer to, “How many feet 
are there in three yards?” or something like 
that, until the King looked over his paper and 
seemed surprised to find him still there. 

“You may begin at once,” he said. “They 
should have been up long ago.” And he waved 
his hand majestically toward the long rows of 
beds. 


ADVENTURE OF SLEEPY-HEAD 51 

Noddy understood then that he was to wake 
whoever was sleeping there, and from the size 
and shape of the humps he knew they must be 
little boys. 

“Hurry now!” said the King, turning to his 
paper and hunting for the market quotations. 
“Hurry, my dear!” repeated the Queen. 

So down the long rows went Noddy, giving 
a shake here and a prod there, whispering 
loudly at every bedside, “Get up—it’s late! 
Get up—it’s late!” 

It was rather a long trip, thought Noddy, 
and there were a tremendous lot of beds, but 
finally he was back and bowing before the King 
and Queen. 

“It’s done!” he announced proudly. “They 
are all getting up!” 

The King looked out over Noddy’s head and 
then burst into a laugh—such a hearty laugh 
that the tears ran down his cheeks and his face 




OLD TOWN CLOCK 


5^ 

became almost as scarlet as the royal cushions. 

“My dear, my dear,” he said to the Queen 
when he had his breath again, “they are all get- 
ting up! 

The Queen cast one glance down the rows 
and broke into a perfect shower of silvery 
laughter. “So I see,” she said, at last, and her 
eyes twinkled mischievously. 

Noddy turned himself about, and O dear!— 
each and every bed had each and every hump 
under its counterpane exactly as it had been 
when he started on his rounds. 

Quite suddenly, the King was businesslike 
again. “Wake them up!” he said shortly, fold¬ 
ing his paper over to the sport sheet. 

“Wake them up!” repeated the Queen 
softly. 

“I will see to it that they shall be waked this 
time, and no mistake,” thought Noddy, giving 
the first sleeper a punch that ended in a pinch, 


ADVENTURE OF SLEEPY-HEAD 53 

and the second sleeper something very much 
the same. 

Such vigorous digs they were, that it is very 
likely every boy would soon have been scram¬ 
bling out on the rug if there had not been so 
many things to interrupt Noddy in his work. 
First, there was the bed with the two humps. 
When they got their punches which ended in 
pinches two tousled heads came out from under 
the covers in a jiffy, and two voices chanted 
grumpily: 

“We’re Robert and Richard, two pretty men, 

We lie in bed till the clock strikes ten,—so there!” 

And under the covers went the heads again. 

Probably they were supposed to sleep late, 
decided Noddy, going on to the next bed. No 
better luck there! His sharp little punch that 
ended in a pinch brought a cross fellow out of 
the blankets. 


54 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

“Here, stop that!” he demanded. “Don’t you 
know I’m to go at noon? I used to go at ten 
o’clock but now I go at noon. I’m the dillar, the 
dollar, the ten o’clock scholar,” and he disap¬ 
peared beneath the blankets again. 

“O dear!” sighed Noddy, “they all have ex¬ 
cuses. How am I to get them up if they won’t 
get up?” He glanced cautiously back over his 
shoulder but the King was busy reading, and 
the Queen had taken up her hooked rug and 
was absorbed in her work. 

“Early to bed and early to rise—” began 
Noddy at the next bed, thinking some familiar 
quotation might have a good effect, but he got 
only so far when a loud “Quack! Quack!” 
above his head made him look up quickly. 
There in the window sat a bird, a blackbird, a 
large blackbird, who cleared his throat and an¬ 
nounced in the most dignified manner, “Ladies 


ADVENTURE OF SLEEPY-HEAD 55 

and gentlemen, good evening! This is station 
S-L-E-E-P. We will now sing, 'The early bird 
catches the worm/ 55 But instead, he seemed in¬ 
stantly to change his mind, for he spread his 
wings and flew away with a great swish. 

On the very next window sill was another 
bird. "A birdie with a yellow bill,” said Noddy 
to himself the minute he laid eyes on him. He 
tried hard to hear what the bird was saying, to 
make sure that he had guessed right, but what 
with all the clocks that were ticking and tock- 
ing and whirring and buzzing and chiming and 
striking, he had to listen very closely before he 
was able to hear, "Ain’t you ’shamed, you 
sleepy-head!” 

"If only the clocks would stop!” wished 
Noddy. The only really pleasant one was the 
cuckoo clock that hung above the throne. When 
its door opened, instead of a wooden cuckoo, 


56 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

there came out a dear little woman in a pink 
checked dress (where had he seen a dress like 
that? he wondered), and in the sweetest voice 
she called out, “Buckwheat cakes for breakfast! 
Buckwheat cakes for breakfast!” 

Noddy finished one row of beds and started 
slowly up the other. He was very tired, and he 
was not yet half done with this task to which 
the King and Queen had set him. Why, oh, 
why, wouldn’t these sleepy boys get up when 
they were called? Would he have to go on for¬ 
ever poking and prodding them, finding them 
fast asleep again when he looked back? Anx¬ 
iously he worked his way toward the throne, 
dreading what the King would say. 

“Buckwheat cakes for breakfast!” called the 
little woman from the door of the cuckoo clock. 
“Buckwheat cakes for breakfast!” Louder and 
louder came the words, nearer and nearer 


ADVENTURE OF SLEEPY-HEAD 57 

sounded the voice. Noddy raised his eyes to the 
clock, in wonder that the little pink lady should 
be shouting so—but the clock had disappeared. 
And, believe it or not, the King with his news¬ 
paper and the Queen with her hooked rug were 
nowhere to be seen. Nothing was left but the 
throne, which glittered and sparkled so brightly 
that Noddy rubbed his eyes with his knuckles 
—and opened them again to a flood of sun¬ 
shine that came streaming in through the tree 
tops. The voice still called, “Buckwheat cakes 
for breakfast! Come, Noddy, come—it’s get¬ 
ting very late!” Noddy scrambled out of his 
own bed as hungry as a starved little bear. 

“Dear me!” Mother told him, as she poured 
the golden sirup over his cakes, “some little 
boys are very hard to wake up mornings. It’s 
rather like work for the one who has to get them 
out of bed.” 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


58 

“I know it,” sighed Noddy, thinking of his 
own experience along that line. “After this, 
Mother, you’ll see—I’m going to get up the 
first time I’m called.” 

And he did! 


THE HUMDRUM FAMILY 


MOTHER HUMDRUM was hanging out 
the washing in the funny back yard. It was 
Monday morning and half-past eight, and on a 
Monday morning at exactly half-past eight, 
come what might, Mother Humdrum felt that 
she should be pinning the pillow-cases on the 
north and south line, while Tilly, the laun¬ 
dress, arranged the sheets very precisely on the 
line which ran east and west. What would have 
happened if the sheets should have got them¬ 
selves pinned on the north and south line, and 
the pillow-cases had been seen swinging from 
the east and west line, was something Mother 
Humdrum would never have been able even to 
think of without being greatly horrified. 

The Humdrum twins came out through the 

59 


60 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

porch door, all ready for school and their 
good-by kiss. 

“Have you a clean handkerchief?” Mother 
Humdrum asked Jill, looking straight at the 
fresh little plaid one which peeped out of her 
pocket; and, “Did you wash your hands?” she 
questioned Jack, although she could plainly 
see they were still red from the scouring he had 
given them. Then with a kiss they were off. 

Out to the corner they went, then down Cus¬ 
tomary Avenue until they reached Monotony 
Street, and so to school. There was no loitering, 
for everything along the way had been seen so 
many times that they could almost have gone 
with closed eyes and told where they were and 
what they were passing. Every house, every 
yard was like something they had learned by 
heart. There were any number of other ways the 
Humdrum twins might have taken in going to 


THE HUMDRUM FAMILY 61 

school, by turning at this corner or at that cor¬ 
ner, but they never turned, and that was all 
there was to it. 

Down these same streets Father Humdrum 
had gone, a little earlier, driving absent- 
mindedly along the route he took to work each 
morning. If you had asked him why he went 
this special way, day in and day out, he would 
very likely have told you that it was his cus¬ 
tom; and if you had questioned the Humdrum 
twins why it was that they went this same way 
to school, over and over again, they would have 
said they didn’t know, but they just did. 

In fact, there was an amazing number of 
things which the Humdrum family “always 
did”—a lot of things which seemed to be “their 
custom.” For instance, the Humdrum family 
always had roast beef for dinner on a Sunday; 
they had browned hash, without fail, on Mon- 


62 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

day; they had milk toast for breakfast three 
hundred and sixty-five mornings each year ex¬ 
cept on leap year, when they had it three hun¬ 
dred and sixty-six mornings. On Saturday 
there was always a cake, a beautiful cake, one 
week chocolate and the next week cocoanut, 
then back to chocolate, and so on; and they 
were always round cakes, because Mother 
Humdrum had always baked round cakes. All 
of which was very nice, of course, only that the 
Humdrums had in some way come to think 
that there was no other way of doing things. 

But, to tell the truth, in spite of everything 
being so precisely arranged, in and about the 
home, to suit their own particular customs, the 
Hundrum family was not a very happy family, 
after all. 

Then, quite all of a sudden, things began to 
happen to this family—things which rather up¬ 
set them in a way, and they began on a Mon- 


THE HUMDRUM FAMILY 63 

day morning, too, when everything should 
have been going along in the most orderly and 
methodical manner. 

Tilly, the laundress, telephoned that she 
would not be at work that day—instead, she 
would wash on Friday! Tilly did not say: 
“Will it be convenient?” or “Do you mind if I 
change my day?” Tilly said, “I shall be there 
on Friday,” and Mother Humdrum was so as¬ 
tonished at her action that she never even 
thought of calling back to argue the matter 
with her. Never, in all her life, had Mother 
Humdrum washed on a Friday. 

“Mrs. Woods washes every Thursday, 
Mother,” Jill told her, by way of comfort, and 
then Jack remembered that Mrs. Hendricks, 
next door, washed on Wednesday, but their 
mother only looked quite shocked, and replied, 
“But we always wash on Monday.” 

However, that week, and for a good many 


64 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

more weeks to come Mother Humdrum was to 
wash on Friday. And, anyway, when Friday 
came, so many astounding things had happened 
in the Humdrum family that they entirely for¬ 
got it was Monday’s washing which was swing¬ 
ing in snowy rows in the back yard. 

First of all, at Monday noontime the twins 
came home, not up Customary Avenue at all, 
but from the opposite direction! Linemen were 
stringing wires along Customary Avenue and 
the children were told by their teachers that 
they must keep off that street for several days. 
So, whether or not it was their custom to do so, 
Jack and Jill had to choose another way home. 

And on this new way they passed—what do 
you think? A carpenter shop! A wonderful 
place with wide-open doors, sweet with the 
smell of clean lumber and the heaps of curly 
shavings that lay all about the floor. The Hum¬ 
drum twins had never seen anything half so 


THE HUMDRUM FAMILY 65 

fascinating. When the man inside, whistling 
away at his work-bench, saw how interested 
they were, he gave them some cunning blocks 
of wood and told them to take all the shavings 
they wanted. Home they scampered in the 
greatest excitement, and Mother Humdrum 
was quite surprised at the appetites they 
brought with them. 

The carpenter shop was only the beginning 
of their adventures. 

The next morning they were very nearly late 
to school because they ventured another way 
and came upon a blacksmith shop where a man 
was actually shoeing a horse. 

“Just like the Village Blacksmith,” said 
Jack, and he looked around curiously, half ex¬ 
pecting to see the “spreading chestnut tree”. 

At noon, still another route took them past 
a new house that was being built, and they tip¬ 
toed through its doorless rooms feeling as ad- 


66 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

venturous as any pioneers who ever made their 
way through pathless forests. 

One evening they passed a quaint little shop 
where spices and fruits were sold, and Jack 
brought home to Mother an empty packing- 
box covered over with Japanese pictures. 

Still another evening—oh, that never-to-be- 
forgotten evening, when they discovered the 
parrot! 

“Hello! Hello!” they had heard some one 
calling. They looked this way and that way, 
but no one was in sight. Still, “Hello! Hello!” 
came after them, and finally Jack ventured to 
call back, “Hello, yourself!” At that a burst of 
noisy laughter followed—“Ha-ha-ha,” and 
Polly hopped into plain sight in the window of 
the house across the way. That was something 
to tell at the supper table! 

Each day the adventures grew more excit¬ 
ing; so that the twins were almost sorry to see 


THE HUMDRUM FAMILY 67 

Friday night come. But when it did come they 
went skipping home singing to the time of their 
own hippety-hops, a verse they had learned 
that afternoon. 

“The world is so full of a number of things,” 
began Jill, and Jack finished with her: 

‘Tm sure we should all be as happy as kings.” 

The very next day Uncle Judson arrived for 
a visit—Uncle Judson whom the twins barely 
remembered but whom they loved instantly. 
Scarcely was he through his greetings, and un¬ 
packed, when he said, “Let’s have a picnic! 
Let’s go to the Park!” 

Now, of course, it was not the custom of the 
Humdrum family to get up a picnic on such 
short notice. Mother Humdrum said kindly, 
but no less firmly, that it couldn’t be done— 
they would have a picnic in a few days. But 
Uncle Judson just laughed and went about 


68 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


getting up a picnic himself. He took the twins 
with him to the corner grocery and they came 
back with their arms full of what he called 
'picnic things”. 

When Father came from work, off they went 
to the Park, and what was more, there wasn’t a 
jollier picnic party anywhere to be found than 
the Humdrum family and their Uncle Judson. 
Mother Humdrum declared that she never 
would have believed that food could taste so 
good, gotten together in such haphazard fash¬ 
ion ; the twins said they wished that they could 
have a picnic every day; and Father Humdrum 
agreed that it certainly was pleasant to eat out 
under the trees after a day in the office. 

When Father went to town on Monday 
morning, Uncle Judson drove with him, and 
while Father worked away all day at the office, 
he went poking about the town having what he 
called "a lark”. He found no end of interesting 



THEY CAME BACK WITH THEIR ARMS FULL 





7 o OLD TOWN CLOCK 

things, and kept them all laughing at dinner 
that night while he told of his experiences. He 
had been in the place where the ice cream was 
made, and seen the whole business; up over a 
candy store he had watched a man making 
candy; he had spent a while in a laundry; had 
been up in the belfry of the Court House—alto¬ 
gether he had made a splendid day of it. 

• In fact, so good a time did he have that he 
went again the next day. Into the car they got, 
waving a jolly good-by to Jack and Jill. But 
when Father turned the car into Customary 
Avenue Uncle Judson’s smile changed to a look 
of surprise. 

‘Took here,” he said, “we went this way 
the other time. Let’s try some other street. I’ve 
seen all this.” 

So down another street they went, and it 
would have been hard to tell which enjoyed its 
houses and gardens more, Father or Uncle Jud- 



THE HUMDRUM FAMILY 71 

son, for they were quite as new to one as to the 
other. 

It was a week of good times, of doing this 
and doing that, something different every day. 

Tilly, the laundress, came again on Friday, 
and Mother Humdrum found the clothes ex¬ 
actly as fresh and spotless as if they had been 
washed on a Monday. In fact, Mother Hum¬ 
drum soon forgot that she “always washed on 
Monday”—just as Jack and Jill and Father 
Humdrum forgot that it had been “their cus¬ 
tom” to go one certain route to work and to 
school each day. 

No happier or livelier family now in all the 
town than the Humdrum family, and every 
one laughs to think that should be their name. 

“Humdrum, indeed!” says the little old 
lady next door. “Why, that family is as full of 
surprises as a Christmas stocking. I never saw 
people that could pack more fun, and more 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


72 

work, too, into twenty-four hours. See those 
bathing suits on the line! That means they 
were every one swimming last night. To-day 
they are out scouring the country for rocks to 
make a fish pond in the back yard. And to¬ 
morrow I’m to go with them bright and early 
to watch the circus people unload and put up 
their tents. Humdrum, indeed!” 


LITTLE MARCH WIND 




THE little old lady who lived around the 
corner the third house down on Weather Street 
was greatly disturbed. Some one had been tell¬ 
ing tales, and bad ones at that, about her favor¬ 
ite child. Not that she really had any favorite 
—not truly and actually; but somehow Little 
March Wind had a special tuckaway corner in 
her heart. 

South Wind was a dear child—warm¬ 
hearted and gentle, with a voice so soft and 
sweet that every one loved her. North Wind, 
though a strange, cold-mannered fellow, who 
did not easily make friends, was yet as straight¬ 
forward a youngster as one could wish. East 
Wind and West Wind were as charming and 
obedient children as one could meet with in a 


73 


74 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

day’s journey. But Little March Wind had a 
way all his own. He it was, who, with his mis¬ 
chievous teasings and roguish pranks, made his 
mother wish she had nothing to do but go 
scampering joyously away over the hills with 
him all the day long. 

This was his holiday time—for one whole 
month he was to be free to go romping about 
and do just as he wished by day and by night. 
But here it was scarcely started, and some ill- 
natured folk were bringing in complaints that 
he was annoying them. He was too wild, too 
rough, they said, and much too noisy. 

So, like a sensible mother, the old lady who 
lived around the corner, three doors down on 
Weather Street, said to herself, “I shall look 
into this matter. I shall go myself and see if this 
son of mine is making a nuisance of himself.” 

And go she did. Very early the next morning, 
when North Wind had gone off on a journey 


LITTLE MARCH WIND 


75 

up the river, and East Wind and West Wind 
were sleeping snugly in their beds, she locked 
the door behind her and set out after Little 
March Wind, who was already far down the 
street with no thought that his mother was fol¬ 
lowing behind. 

He was chasing a big piece of newspaper, 
tumbling it about this way and that, rolling it 
over and over through dooryards and across 
streets in the wildest excitement. Finally it 
came to a sudden stop, flapping up against the 
side of a garden wall, and Little March Wind 
turned abruptly about, instantly forgetting 
the paper, and set himself industriously to 
sweeping the dry leaves out of a gutter near by. 
The minute he had a sizable pile, he sent them 
whirling like a top down the street, around and 
around in spinning circles, while he ran after 
them as happy as a king. But, just as suddenly 
as he had started, he left off and went skipping 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


76 

across a wide yard up on a doorstep. He banged 
a shutter and rattled a door, and then with a 
gusty effort he flopped the porch rug over and 
tossed it halfway down the steps. 

“Dear me!” said his mother to herself. “Is 
he going to be naughty, after all?” She really 
knew, deep in her heart, that he wasn’t, but just 
the same she was glad he had scampered away 
before the lady who owned the rug opened the 
door. There was a bit of a frown on her face, 
though otherwise she seemed to be a very com¬ 
fortable sort of person. It might be possible, 
too, that her early morning curl-papers and the 
dignified neighbor who was passing had some¬ 
thing to do with the frown. 

“Good-morning! Good-morning! Somebody 
trying to steal your porch rug?” laughed the 
neighbor, his eyes so full of fun that they never 
even saw the curl-papers. 

“Yes, it’s that little rascal, March Wind,” 


LITTLE MARCH WIND 77 

she answered with a brightening face, as she 
put the rug back into its place. “Fm glad, after 
all, that he did it—otherwise I might not have 
come out to see this fine morning. It is glorious, 
isn’t it?” And when the neighbor had gone 
quite to the end of the street, she still stood in 
her doorway enjoying the fresh beauty of the 
day. 

“What a sensible woman!” remarked the 
mother of Little March Wind. 

Where was the child, she wondered, as she 
turned again to look for him. Far away, high up 
in the sky, she saw him, whisking the smaller 
clouds along at a furious pace, panting and 
pushing and tugging with all his might as he 
rolled the larger ones across the blue. From the 
clouds he dropped into the top of a huge oak 
tree and set all the dry leaves rattling on their 
brittle stems. Before she knew what he was 
about, he had stripped every leaf from the old 


78 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

tree and sent them to the ground in a shower. 
Then he must chase them up the street in a mad 
whirl. The very sight of a leaf, it seemed, set 
him wild with delight, and he could no more 
help teasing them than he could help being Lit¬ 
tle March Wind. 

In his hurry, he quite passed by a group of 
little girls on their way to school, but catching 
sight of them over his shoulder he turned 
sharply and hurried back. 

“I do hope he won't bother the little girls/’ 
thought his mother. ct The pretty curly-haired 
one looks very cross already.” 

But the pretty curly-haired one was the very 
one Little March Wind singled out. He darted 
up behind and flapped her tiny skirts about her 
knees until she could scarcely walk; then he 
snatched her hat and sent it scooting down the 
street at a great rate. Such a scramble, such 
shrieks, and such a race pell-mell after it! But 


LITTLE MARCH WIND 79 

when at last the hat was back on the curly 
head the cross frown was gone entirely, roses 
bloomed in cheeks, and a happy voice sang out, 
“Oh, wasn’t that fun! I just love the wind, 



HE DARTED UP BEHIND 

don’t you?” And off they danced with Little 
March Wind close at their heels. 

But he wasn’t going to school. Oh, no—not 
he! He went whistling around the corner of the 
building, cutting roguish capers, and then 




8o OLD TOWN CLOCK 

scurried off across lots. Through the back yards 
he ran boisterously, all but overturning the 
women who were bringing out baskets of 
freshly washed linens to hang on the swinging 
lines. 

What fun he had! How he teased them all, 
twisting the wet pieces around the line, slyly 
flipping the pins out of their hands. But not 
one of them was cross with him, and so he 
stayed a long time after the washings were 
hung out, and helped to dry them. He blew the 
sheets out straight until they snapped and 
cracked like whips, and the gowns and dresses 
he puffed up so that they looked like round 
white people hanging upside down. When that 
was done, he was off to the street to play in the 
dust, stirring it about and scattering it into 
clouds that went sailing away through the sun¬ 
shine. 

All day long his mother followed patiently, 


LITTLE MARCH WIND 81 

just far enough behind so that he never guessed 
it, while he went here and there and every¬ 
where banging shutters, swinging signs on their 
creaky hinges, sweeping up trash and leaves, 
beating bushes free of dried twigs, whistling 
shrilly around house corners, and finally end¬ 
ing up on a hill beyond the town where a great 
crowd of boys were getting ready to fly their 
kites. How they ever could have done it with¬ 
out Little March Wind, his mother could not 
imagine. For though all the boys made a great 
to-do of running up and down and shouting 
wildly, in the end it was March Wind who 
lifted them skillfully and guided them up, up, 
and up, higher and higher, until they seemed 
only tiny toys melting into the blue of the sky. 

Plainly, Little March Wind was at his best 
on the hill with the kites. He would stay there 
as long as the boys stayed, his mother well 
knew, so she turned back toward the town to 


82 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

find her way around the corner to the third 
house down on Weather Street. And on her 
way, whom should she spy but the same kindly 
neighbor she had seen early in the morning. He 
was walking briskly homeward with a tall 
friend and as she came quietly up behind she 
heard him say, “Yes, it’s been a wonderful 
day! This March wind makes me feel like a boy 
again—Lve been whistling all day. I hope it 
keeps up all night, too. To my way of thinking, 
one of the pleasantest things in this old world 
is to lie snugly in bed at night and hear the 
wind whistling around the corner of the house. 
It’s great!’ 5 

The tall man looked at him oddly, and said 
that he had never thought of it that way before 
—but very likely there was something in it. He 
had always grumbled a lot, he said, about the 
March wind, but very likely it was just because 
he had heard other people do the same thing. 


LITTLE MARCH WIND 83 

After all, if the truth were told, he believed he 
actually did enjoy this month, and if he could 
keep awake long enough he was going to try 
this business of listening to the wind whistle 
around the corner—if it blew that night. 

Little March Wind’s mother chuckled to 
herself. Well she knew that most of the night 
would find this vigorous little son of hers out at 
his fun, and she was heartily glad to know that 
he had friends even in the darkness. 

“A nuisance, indeed!” she said to herself. 
“Why, he has hosts of friends! Things about 
town look much better than when he started 
out this morning, too. He has done a good day’s 
work and made a lark of it. I’m quite proud of 
him!” And turning the corner she went down 
Weather Street to number three, feeling very 
comfortable and happy indeed. 


IN PETER’S CLOCK SHOP 


TO BE sure, the tiny shop in Mulberry 
Street had a name across the top of the door. 
There, in faded gilt letters, any one, by trying 
quite hard, could read: 

Peter Crosswait—Clocks and Watches 
But if a stranger had asked any child in town 
to tell him where Mr. Crosswait’s shop was, 
probably no child could have told him. To all 
the children, it was simply “The Clock Shop.” 

Even a father, who went downtown to busi¬ 
ness every day, would have hesitated just a 
moment, perhaps, at the same question, be¬ 
cause every father, and likewise every mother, 
knew the shop as “Peter’s Shop,” and the dear 
old man who owned it as just “Peter.” If the 

clock did not strike right, mothers said, “I 

84 


IN PETER’S CLOCK SHOP 85 

think we must get Peter to take a look at it.” 
And when it was brought back home again, 
fathers said, “Well, now we shall have the cor¬ 
rect time. Peter certainly knows how to put a 
clock in order!” 

All the children loved an opportunity to get 
inside the Clock Shop. The minute the door was 
shut tight, one was right in the midst of the 
quietest sort of sound—“Tick, tick, tick!” 
“Tick, tock, tick, tock!” “Tick, tick, tick, tick, 
tick!” Big clocks, little clocks, and middle-sized 
clocks were there, all very busy about their 
business. Every boy and girl loved it, but no 
boy and no girl knew just how interesting The 
Clock Shop really was, and how many fasci¬ 
nating things went on there. 

The Old Grandfather Clock could have told 
them strange tales of his adventures. So, for 
that matter, could any of the other clocks, but 
they were far too busy to give more than a 


86 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 



BIG CLOCKS, LITTLE CLOCKS, AND MIDDLE-SIZED 

CLOCKS 


glance at the eager and admiring little boys and 
girls. There was always some stir, some excit- 






































































IN PETER’S CLOCK SHOP 87 

ing thing going on among them—some one 
leaving for a new home, some stranger being 
unpacked and set up on the shelves, casual call¬ 
ers stopping for a few days to be put into better 
working order—besides all the regular happen¬ 
ings of the day. 

There was Little China Clock, for instance 
—back again this very morning. And more 
than one older and more sedate clock was dis¬ 
cussing her return. The wise Old Grandfather 
Clock, however, said never a word. He did not 
enter into the gossip, neither did he speak one 
word of reproof, nor ask one question of Little 
China Clock. Rut when Peter had locked up 
and gone home for the night, leaving The 
Clock Shop dark and shadowy, and when the 
other clocks were busily talking among them¬ 
selves, then Grandfather Clock kindly ques¬ 
tioned her. 

“Why are you back again?” he asked. 


88 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 

Little China Clock looked quite embarrassed 
and did not reply. 

“This is the third time you have been sold 
and later brought back,” went on Grandfather 
Clock. “I have been wondering what is the 
reason.” 

Still Little China Clock answered not a 
word. 

“Did you like your last place?” questioned 
the old fellow. 

Little China Clock replied quickly to that. 

“Oh, I loved it,” she said. “It was a beauti¬ 
ful place! I loved it so!” 

“Tell me about it,” urged Grandfather 
Clock. 

“Well,” began his little friend, “you re¬ 
member the lovely lady who came in and 
bought me last time? You remember she said 
when she saw me that I looked as though I just 


IN PETER’S CLOCK SHOP 89 

really belonged in her room—as though I had 
been made especially for it?” 

“Yes,” Grandfather Clock said, he remem¬ 
bered it very well. 

“And really,” went on the tiny tick-tick- 
ticking voice, “I thought so, too, when I got 
there. It was a beautiful room, all lacy and 
satiny, and filled with soft rugs and shining 
mirrors. And my place was on her dressing- 
table, right in front of a set of mirrors—” 

“Where you could look at yourself all day 
long!” broke in Grandfather Clock. “And in a 
few days you had neglected your work so much 
that you were away behind time. Isn’t that 
about right?” 

'Well, yes, I did get behind a little,” she ad¬ 
mitted, sheepishly, “but how did you know?” 

“I know,” was the answer, “because I’m a 
Grandfather Clock. If I could not guess a 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


90 

simple secret like that, I should think I had 
made poor use of my experience. I know! You 
sat in front of the mirrors, and you enjoyed 
looking at your reflection so much that you en¬ 
tirely forgot what your real business was. And 
when you had lost quite a bit of time, you made 
the little lady late for some important engage¬ 
ment, and she was angry with you and sent you 
back here. Am I right?” 

“Yes,” wailed the small culprit, “and, oh, 
I do want to go back there. I love the lady and 
I love the room. It is the prettiest place I ever 
saw. I do want to go back!” 

“If I am not mistaken, this is the third time 
you have come back with the same complaint 
against you—that you lose time. Were there 
mirrors in the other two places?” asked Grand¬ 
father Clock, sternly. 

“Yes, there were,” Little China Clock 
owned, shamefacedly. 


IN PETER’S CLOCK SHOP 91 

The wise old fellow looked at her closely. 

“There is no doubt about it—you are 
pretty,” he said gently. “Of course, that is one 
reason why ladies buy you, but that isn’t the 
only one. The main reason is that they want a 
clock—something to tell them the time—the 
correct time. Then when they take you home, 
you sit looking at yourself in their mirrors— 
you waste your time and theirs, too—you make 
them late for appointments—” 

Grandfather Clock was tick-tocking pretty 
loudly by this time, for he was getting out of 
patience with his little friend, so he ended 
quite suddenly and crossly, too, with— “Why 
do you do so?” 

“I don’t know,” wailed Little China Clock, 
“only I do love mirrors.” 

“Silly!” was the scornful reply. “If you 
don’t take care, you’ll never see a mirror again. 
You will be sold to the junkman some day un- 


92 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

less you attend to business—and a clock’s busi¬ 
ness is to keep correct time. Look at me! Why 
do you think Peter came clear across the sea to 
Austria to fetch me here when his uncle left me 
to him? Was it because of my fine looks?” 

“But you are handsome,” protested Little 
China Clock. 

“Yes, perhaps I am,” agreed the honest old 
fellow. “But if I am handsome, it is because 
some trees in the mountains attended to their 
business and grew true and straight and 
strong, so that the wood in my case is as fine 
as you could find anywhere. But Peter would 
never have made that long journey across the 
sea to bring me back just on account of my 
handsome case. Pm a good timekeeper! That’s 
why Peter came for me. I should not be worth 
much as a clock if I were only ornamental. It 
is a wonderful thing to be beautiful—but to be 
beautiful and serviceable is still better.” 


IN PETER’S CLOCK SHOP 93 

Little China Clock was beginning to look 
very repentant, but Grandfather Clock went 
on talking. 

“One hundred and fifty years have I been 
keeping time for Peter’s family. His grand¬ 
father made my case with his own hands, and 
set together the springs and wheels inside that 
case. There was a workman for you! I should 
be ashamed to slight my work when he did his 
so well. I have lived among mirrors, too. Oh, I 
could tell you tales, Little Clock—tales of 
lords and their ladies, of gay hunting parties, 
of weddings, and banquets, and balls. But 
Peter’s grandfather, when he wound me first 
and set me going, said to me, ‘Be honest—do 
your work well, and you will have a happy 
life.’ And I have been happy. So will you be 
happy, if you do your work well.” 

* 

Grandfather Clock stopped abruptly and 
tick-tocked, tick-tocked gravely for many 


94 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

minutes before he spoke again—as though he 
were thoroughly enjoying doing his work well. 
The small clock sat meekly waiting. Suddenly 
he broke the silence. 

“Would you really like to go back to the 
beautiful lady and her room?” he asked. 

“Yes, I should,” was the earnest reply, 
“very much—more than anything else in all 
the world.” 

“Well, it’s quite simple,” he told her. 
“Peter will put you in order in a day or so. The 
lady will very likely try you again—they al¬ 
ways do. People become attached to a clock, 
you know, just as they do to a person. Yes, she 
will try you again. Then, what are you going 
to do?” 

Little China Clock spoke quickly. 

“Pm not going to look at myself in the mir¬ 
ror so much. I can keep just as good time as any 
clock in Peter’s Shop, and I’m going to do it!” 


IN PETER’S CLOCK SHOP 95 

“Hooray!” shouted Grandfather Clock. 
“Tick, tock! I only wish Peter could hear you 
say that. You have certainly been a worry to 
him. He has a mighty pleasant surprise in 
store for him. Tick, tock! Tick, tock! Be hon¬ 
est, do your work well, and you will have a 
happy life and make others happy, too. Tick, 
tock! Tick, tock!” 


LITTLE PINE TREE’S WISH 

DEEP in the forest stood Little Pine Tree, 
and close about him stood his neighbors and 
friends, all very tall, very straight, and very 
proud, too, that they were so. To them, Little 
Pine Tree was only a pretty child. The secrets 
which the wind told them in passing, they did 
not often bother to tell him; the news they got 
from the birds that stopped to rest in their tall 
branches, they did not trouble to hand down to 
this eager little companion. 

So, when he overheard them gossiping about 
lumber camps and woodchoppers, he had not 
the slightest idea what they meant. And later, 
he was greatly puzzled by their talk of going 
out into the world to become telephone poles. 
But, by and by, he did get it fairly clear, and 

96 


LITTLE PINE TREE’S WISH 97 

came to understand what was needful to be 
chosen for such a wonderful place in life. One 
must be tall, must be straight, without bend or 
twist, sound and whole. The old tree who fi¬ 
nally took time to talk with Little Pine Tree 
about it, told him all this very kindly, and then 
he bent down a low-hung branch and gently 
touched the very top of Little Pine Tree’s head 
in a most loving way. 

“You are sound and whole, little one,” he 
said, “you are straight as any one could wish, 
but—you are not tall.” 

“I feel tall,” argued Little Pine Tree. 

A soft laughing murmur came from the great 
fatherly pine. 

“I believe you do,” he said earnestly. “You 
are sound at heart, and so you feel tall. But no 
woodchopper would choose you for a tele¬ 
phone pole. I haven’t a doubt there is some¬ 
thing for you to do in the world, but no, little 


98 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

friend, you are not tall enough to bear the 
heavy, singing wires high in the air where they 
must be borne.” 

If, deep in his heart, Little Pine Tree 
grieved a bit, he took care that none knew of 
it. He held his sturdy branches out and nodded 
his needled head as gayly as he had always 
done. 

Busy days came into the life of the forest. 
High up in the topmost branches there was so 
much important talk going on that Little Pine 
Tree was left more and more to himself. There 
drifted down stray bits of gossip, so that by 
putting things together in his own quiet way, 
he knew that the woodchoppers were near at 
hand, and that the ringing sounds he had been 
hearing from dawn till dark each day were 
their axes at work, and that the tremendous 
crashes were trees falling. 

“Going away to be telephone poles,” sighed 


LITTLE PINE TREE’S WISH 99 

Little Pine Tree, quite to himself, of course. 

And then, one wonderful day, he saw the 
woodchoppers themselves—and what was 
more, three of them came and sat with him and 
ate their noonday lunch. How he quivered 
with delight when the jolly white-haired man 
sat leaning against him, eating his thick sand¬ 
wich while he read again a letter from his boy¬ 
hood home in England! 

“It’s going to be springtime in Old England 
soon, lads,” he said, as he folded it again into 
his pocket. 

“The same as here, Old Joe,” laughed back 
one of his helpers. 

“Yes, the same as here, and yet not the 
same,” answered Old Joe. “I’m wondering 
now if they still keep the May Day as they 
kept it when I was but a lad. Early up and 
early out, we were that morning, to the village 
green—carrying nosegays to our little sweet- 


100 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


hearts, and choosing the May Queen. And then 
the dances around the Maypole, with the 
pretty ribbons fluttering—and children every¬ 
where, tumbling and scampering and skipping 
the whole day through. I’d give a deal to see a 
Maypole again. The woods I love, but, lads, 
I’m fair hungering for the sight of children.” 

From that minute Little Pine Tree knew. 
Once he had thought it would be a grand thing 
to go out into the world and be a telephone 
pole, but now, oh, much more he wished he 
might be a Maypole and stand in the center of 
a circle of dancing children. It seemed a foolish 
dream, perhaps, but he hugged it softly to his 
heart. Children 4 ? He scarcely knew what they 
were, but they danced and sang, and they were 
maybe a bit like birds, he thought. 

The chopping came nearer and nearer, and 
then there came a day when some one called 


LITTLE PINE TREE’S WISH 101 

out, “Hey, Joe, what about this little fellow? 
Shall we take him or leave him standing?” 

Old Joe ran his hand lovingly over Little 
Pine Tree’s shaggy sides. 

“He will make no pole for the company, of 
that I’m sure, but let’s send him along. He 
takes me back someway to the Maypoles I used 
to know. Let’s send him along. Who knows? 
Some one may yet want a Maypole.” 

So Little Pine Tree went along with the tall, 
straight trees—out from the deep forest, away 
and away on long trains, for miles and miles. 
Many a bump did he have from the heavier 
and longer poles, many a jolt and hard knock. 

“You are very foolish,” they said to him 
more than once. “We have told you that tele¬ 
phone poles must be tall. As to the Maypoles 
you keep talking about, we have never heard 
of such things. Why don’t you drop out and be 


102 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

comfortable? We don’t like to be forever 
crowding you, but how can we help it when we 
are so big and heavy and you are so small?” 

But, no. Little Pine Tree did not drop out. 
Whenever they were shifted from one place to 
another, whenever there was a sorting, in some 
way he crept in and went along, until by and 
by they were landed in an immense yard filled 
with stacks and stacks of lumber of all sorts. 
Workmen came and looked them over, tapped 
their sides and measured them; and then, one 
by one, they were carted away until most of the 
old friends were gone. But Little Pine Tree 
had no time to be unhappy at being left alone. 
Were there not strangers coming in now every 
day in great loads? Plainly, it was his duty to 
make them welcome. 

Sometimes when the night came down, and 
the soft moonlight shone all about him, Little 


LITTLE PINE TREE’S WISH 103 

Pine Tree lay awake wondering. Was he 
always to live here in this great yard? 

‘‘Well,” he sighed softly, “there really is 
plenty for me to do here, what with keeping 
those who get left behind from becoming dis¬ 
contented, and seeing that the newcomers do 
not get lonely. Pm busy every minute. But 
there is no harm in wanting to be a Maypole 
if I do not let it spoil me for my day’s work. It 
isn’t a bad wish—it’s a good wish—and I am 
not going to give it up just because it doesn’t 
seem to come true. If I do get a chance to be a 
Maypole sometime, I’ll be the happiest pine 
tree that ever came out of the forest. But if I 
don’t, I guess I can be happy here, too.” 

And moonlight or no moonlight, any one so 
comfortable and contented as was Little Pine 
Tree, couldn’t stay awake one minute longer. 

Some one was thump, thump, thumping 



104 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

Little Pine Tree, and that, of course, waked 
him from his dream of the old forest. Half 
asleep, he heard a brisk voice saying, “The 
very thing! Exactly what we want! If we had 
looked the city over, we couldn’t have found a 
pole that suited better. Just the right height, 
just the right size, straight as a pikestaff— 
why, I tell you this tree was grown just to be a 
Maypole!” 

Too hurried and excited even to say good-by 
to all his friends, Little Pine Tree was carted 
away to the Public Playground, and found 
himself being set in place, while a great crowd 
of children shouted about him, and played 
games, and did a hundred happy things that 
happy children do, but of which little pine 
trees deep in the forest never know. 

What Old Joe had called ribbons turned out 
to be long strips of bunting, and to one who 
had never known any color other than green, 


LITTLE PINE TREE’S WISH 105 

the lengths of scarlet and lavender and blue 
and orange were very beautiful. The laughing 
boys and girls who went dancing about him, 
weaving these lovely things into pretty pat¬ 
terns, made Little Pine Tree think again of a 
flock of butterflies which had fluttered across 
the big yard one summer day. 

To be sure, there was a May Queen, just as 
Old Joe had said there used to be in England 
when he was a lad—a little mite of a dark¬ 
haired girl with shining eyes. And when the 
garland was placed on her head and all the 
children shouted, “Hurrah! Hurrah! Peggy’s 
Queen!” she made a shy bow. But when they 
called out, “Make your wish, Peggy Queen! 
Make your wish!” she stood up beside her 
pretty throne and said without one trace of 
shyness, “I wish we might keep the Maypole 
here to play with all the time, instead of hav¬ 
ing it just for to-day.” 



DANCING AND SINGING ABOUT LITTLE PINE TREE 


















LITTLE PINE TREE’S WISH 107 

It was a pretty wish, just as Little Pine 
Tree’s had been—and they both came true. 
The flimsy bunting ribbons were exchanged 
for waterproof strips of brilliant colors, and 
not a day of all the week but a crowd of laugh¬ 
ing children went dancing and singing abo\it 
Little Pine Tree. 

And often when all the children had gone 
away home to their beds, Little Pine Tree kept 
awake, too full of gladness for sleep. 


POLLY PRISM’S SECRET 


HOW long she had lain in the drawer with 
the hosts of buttons, no one knew—not even 
the pretty glass trinket herself. But at least 
it had been so long that she felt quite at home, 
and very much as though, of all places in the 
world, she belonged right there. 

Year by year the crowd of buttons had 
grown. Most often they came one at a time, 
but sometimes the drawer was pulled open and 
a whole handful dropped in—buttons cut from 
some garment out of fashion, all alike and all 
a bit shy at first, but soon great friends with 
the older inhabitants of the drawer. 

Quite like a little town it was, with its small 
people of all sorts. Tiny, frivolous buttons of 
crystal there were, with brilliant flowers set 

108 



POLLY PRISM’S SECRET 109 

deep in the hearts of them, specks of shining 
brass buttons, jet buttons cut like diamonds, 
glass buttons of clear red and orange and 
green, velvet buttons of every hue, metal but¬ 
tons crusted over with tiny colored sets of 
glass, silver buttons, gold buttons, old style, 
new style, large and small. 

Biggest of all and most important of all, was 
the fat brass button which had once, long ago, 
adorned the uniform of an army officer. He 
was greatly looked up to by the whole lot of 
buttons, and because he had once done service 
on the coat of a commander, it suited him ex¬ 
actly to advise and direct the doings of the 
others. But not even he remembered when the 
shiny glass ornament had come among them, 
nor whence she had come. 

“She certainly isn’t one of the Button fam¬ 
ily,” was all he could tell them when they fell 
sometimes to talking of such things. “I have 


no OLD TOWN CLOCK 

never seen a button which looked the least bit 
like her.” 

And when they took their questions to their 
little friend, she could tell them almost noth¬ 
ing about herself. 

“I know my name is Polly Prism,” she 
laughed, “and how I know even that much is 
more than I can say. But it is. Try as I will, I 
cannot seem to remember one thing about any 
other home I ever had. I’m so happy here that 
I don’t see that it makes much difference, any¬ 
way, where I came from, does it?” 

“No,” they all agreed, “it doesn’t really 
make any difference only—” 

“Don’t you remember anything you ever 
used to do?” questioned a perky little gold but¬ 
ton. 

“Not exactly,” answered Polly, holding 
herself, for once, quite still that she might 
think very hard. “Not exactly—only someway 



POLLY PRISM’S SECRET in 

it seems to me that once, long ago, I must have 
hung, swinging and dangling, from something 
—I feel so swingy!” 

Yes, all the buttons knew that Polly Prism 
felt “swingy”. Wasn’t she forever wiggling 
and twisting joyfully about among them, this 
way and that way, over and over 4 ? Not that 
any one objected for one moment to her doing 
so, for many was the frolic they would have 
missed had this gay little friend not been there 
to start it. Indeed, there was not a button, 
large or small, young or old, who did not love 
Polly Prism with all his heart. Sometimes 
when they felt crowded, and there seemed 
scant room for so many of them, cross words 
were heard, and then Polly Prism came 
quickly to the help of all. 

“Let’s not waste any time being cross,” she 
urged. “Let’s be happy every minute. It is so 
good to be happy, and such a horrid, miserable 


112 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


feeling to be cross. Come on, now—cheer up! 
Why, I’m happy all the time. I like it!” 

“How can you be happy all the time? How 
can you be happy at all when you haven’t one 
speck of color about you? I should think you 
would feel so dull and lifeless that you would 
be wretched!” So said the tiny blue button, she 
with the gold rose set deep in her prettiness. 

“I wonder at it, too,” chimed in the ruby 
glass button. “I do so love color.” 

Polly Prism laughed and shrugged her tin¬ 
kling shoulders. 

“I can’t tell you how it is—I know I can’t. 
You will say I am colorless and pale. But, 
isn’t it funny?—I feel all full of rainbows— 
as if all the colors in the world were dancing 
about in me!” 

And then, one day—and a rainy day, too—a 
very pleasant thing happened to Polly Prism. 
The Nice Lady came into the sewing-room and 


POLLY PRISM’S SECRET 113 

sat down to her work. And while she worked, 
the Nice Little Girl stood at the window, look¬ 
ing out at the gray sky, and the wet garden, 
and the slanting crowd of raindrops, wonder¬ 
ing, over and over again, what to do. 

“Why not try the button drawer? You 
haven’t looked through that for ever so long,” 
suggested the Nice Lady, at last. 

All the buttons pricked up their ears at that, 
for they felt sure that something exciting was 
in store for them. And they were not wrong, 
either, for soon the soft, inquiring fingers of 
the Nice Little Girl were busy among them, 
tumbling them about, this way and that way, 
with exclamations of delight. 

“What pretty things! Oh, Mother, I had 
forgotten all these darling buttons were here. 
Aren’t these cunning little ones? And look at 
the big sparkly ones! My, how funny your 
Grandmother must have looked with a long 


ii4 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 

row of them from her neck to the hem of her 
dress!” 

Suddenly her bright eyes spied something 



which glittered and shone in the very bottom 
of the drawer. 

“But, Mother, what in the world is this 
queer glass one 4 ? It isn’t a button, is it? Where 






















POLLY PRISM’S SECRET 115 

did it come from?”—and her eager, prying fin¬ 
gers drew Polly Prism from among the rest and 
held her dangling in the air. 

The Nice Lady laid down her sewing 
quickly and took Polly Prism into her own 
hands, and something in the way she touched 
her made Polly feel very glad and comfortable 
inside. 

“Why, if it isn’t Polly Prism! Isn’t it queer 
that I could ever become so busy that I should 
forget Polly? For years she hung in the east 
window downstairs, but when the little hanger 
broke she was put away to be mended—and 
forgotten. Come, this minute! Let’s go and 
mend her and hang her where she really be¬ 
longs. She has a beautiful secret, and when the 
sun shines she will love to tell it to you.” 

Hung in the big window downstairs, Polly 
Prism wondered, more and more, just what was 
to come of this exciting adventure, and, try as 


n6 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

she would, she could not quite seem to think 
what this secret was that the Nice Lady seemed 
so sure she would tell when the sun shone 
again. 

The rain came down all day, but outside the 
window there were any number of interesting 
things going on, quite new to Polly—grass 
turning greener and greener every minute, 
buds on the lilac bush swelling larger and 
larger, robins taking a bath in the eaves across 
the way, under the shelter of an apple bough, 
and the cardinal who whistled right through 
the rain from the topmost branch of an elm. 
How Polly reveled in all these things, these 
lovely things, and how she did wish that all 
her button friends might see this wonderful 
world outside the window. 

“You must wait, 5 ’ she heard the Nice Lady 
tell her little daughter. “Polly Prism is at her 
best on sunshiny days. Her pretty secret is 


POLLY PRISM’S SECRET 117 

there all the time, but you will have to be pa¬ 
tient.” 

And if the Nice Little Girl had to wait, 
Polly Prism knew very well that she would be 
obliged to wait, too, and meanwhile she grew 
so excited over the happy doings of the grow¬ 
ing things outside that she entirely forgot she 
was waiting. 

When the morning came and the sun could 
be seen plainly, as if no cloud or storm had 
ever been there to hide him for one instant, 
Polly woke up feeling an extra warmth and 
gladness within her happy self. Outside, the 
world was brighter and greener than even the 
green glass button upstairs, and inside—well, 
when Polly looked about the room and saw the 
gay bits of rainbows that were dancing over 
ceiling and wall and floor, she was thrilled to 
the very center of her joyous little heart. 

She watched the exquisite, darting colors, 


n8 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

and slowly, with a new wave of gladness, it 
came to her— “Those are pictures of my hap¬ 
piness—that is what my heart is like—that is 
the reason I felt all filled with rainbows. I wish 
the buttons knew—they would love my colors. 
And I wish the Nice Little Girl would hurry 
down.” 

The Nice Little Girl did come down a whole 
half-hour earlier than usual, and when she saw 
the tiny rainbows, she danced about almost as 
much as they did, only, of course, she did not 
dance on the ceilings and walls as the little re¬ 
flections did. 

“To think, Mother, Polly Prism had all 
those lovely colors hidden away inside all the 
time!” she cried, in great excitement. 

Then the Nice Lady said something which 
Polly and the Nice Little Girl were going to 
remember for a long time, though perhaps they 
did not know it just that minute. 


POLLY PRISM’S SECRET 119 

“I wonder,” she said, “if all of us haven’t 
pretty rainbow things hidden away in our 
hearts just like Polly Prism? I wonder, too, if 
we let the clear sunlight shine through, if we 
cannot send these lovely things dancing out 
into the world to make it a still more beautiful 
place—I wonder!” 

So Polly Prism swings happily in the win¬ 
dow. On sunshiny mornings she has the gayest 
time catching the sunbeams and turning them 
into fascinating little rainbows that go skip¬ 
ping joyously about the room. And on other 
days, when clouds fill the sky and raindrops 
come splashing against the window-pane, or 
flocks of soft snowflakes go whirling merrily 
past, Polly Prism, knowing well that the sun 
is really there, anyway, swings back and forth 
contentedly, with the rainbows tucked snugly 
inside. 


CHRISTMAS IN THE FOREST 


IT ALL came about because Little Brother 
Rabbit grew adventurous one wonderful Nov- 
vember day, and went exploring beyond the 
spot where he usually left off running and 
turned back into the woods again. He had a 
most delightful afternoon, and not the least of 
his good time was in hopping about in a gar¬ 
den, nibbling the tender leaves in a patch of 
late lettuce. He had to be quite careful not to 
let himself be seen, for some boys and girls 
were hulling nuts close at hand. By listening 
attentively, he was able to overhear what they 
were talking about, and not a word of it did he 
fail to remember, so that when he scampered 
off home in the twilight he took with him the 
most amazing idea that he had ever heard of. 


120 


CHRISTMAS IN THE FOREST 121 

He couldn’t make it out, but he felt sure that 
his mother could tell him, in the wink of an 
eyelash, what it all meant. But just here he 
was mistaken. For once, Mother Rabbit was at 
a loss. 

“Christmas trees?” she repeated slowly, 
turning the thought over this way and that 
way. “Christmas trees? I don’t know, my dear. 
I know the elm tree, the maple, the oak, the 
poplar, the beech, the walnut—but the Christ¬ 
mas tree is a stranger to me.” 

However, little Brother Rabbit was soon to 
have it all explained to him, for just at that 
minute Mr. Brown Squirrel happened by, and, 
being a gentleman who traveled far and wide, 
he was able to tell them at once all about 
Christmas trees. He had, himself, seen more 
than one when he peeped inquisitively through 
winter windows, and could tell pretty much 
all that one wanted to know about them. 



122 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

While he talked, all the woodland dwellers 
drew near to hear the story, and when he had 
finished his glowing description, Little Brother 
Rabbit piped up, excitedly, “Let’s have one!” 

Mr. Squirrel looked at Mrs. Rabbit in as¬ 
tonishment; the redbird and the woodpecker 
and the jay, who were perched on the oak 
branch overhead, looked at each other in aston¬ 
ishment; the tiny field mice looked at Mother 
Mouse in astonishment; the crow in the elm 
tree looked at Wise Old Owl in astonishment; 
and Wise Old Owl, looking straight ahead, 
said solemnly, “Why not?” Then everybody 
looked again at everybody else in astonish¬ 
ment and echoed, “Why not?” 

Why not, indeed? No one had ever heard of 
a Christmas tree for animals, but then, as Mrs. 
Rabbit remarked, some one always has to be 
the first to think of a new thing. Mr. Squirrel 
told them all over again just what the tree 


CHRISTMAS IN THE FOREST 123 

must be like; and Wise Old Owl undertook to 
explain what he called “the why and where¬ 
fore” of Christmas trees in general. 

“Christmas,” he said, blinking his eyes 
slowly, “is a state of mind.” 

No one said a word in reply to this strange 
remark, for no one knew what to say. 

“What I mean,” continued Wise Old Owl, 
“is that you have to feel Christmasy in order 
to have Christmas. You have to be filled with 
love and wanting to do something for some one 
else. Many people live all their lives and 
never have one single Christmas; and some 
others have a Christmas Day every time the 
sun comes up.” 

“And a Christmas tree?” asked the tiniest 
field mouse. 

“No, not a tree every day,” replied the Owl, 
with a kindly smile on his wise old face, “just 
one tree each year.” 


124 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

In less time than it takes to tell it, the ani¬ 
mals had decided to have a Christmas tree of 
their own. Every one talked at once and with¬ 
out stopping to take breath for at least five 
minutes. Every one agreed with every one else 
that it should be the finest tree to be found all 
the country round, because it would be the first 
Christmas tree the baby animals had ever seen. 
“The first one any of us has ever seen—except 
Mr. Squirrel, 55 Mrs. Rabbit reminded them. 

Down by the brook they found a tiny fir tree. 
“The very thing! 55 declared Mr. Squirrel, the 
minute he set eyes upon it. “The very thing! 55 

So, without more delay, all the animals set 
to work on their preparations. What a host of 
things there were to be done! If there was to be 
a tree, there must be gifts, of course; and 
through the woods they went scampering, 
dodging here and there, far and wide, to find 


CHRISTMAS IN THE FOREST 125 

and fetch just the right thing. Under the over¬ 
hanging bank was a storehouse, where all that 
was brought might be hidden away in safety 
until all was in readiness for the great night. 

And if there was to be a party, all the 
mothers felt there was a certain amount of fur¬ 
bishing up to be done. Mother Rabbit, after 
she had made the children’s clothes as pretty 
as possible, set herself to work making Father 
Rabbit a most beautiful pair of gayly striped 
trousers with a long scarf to match, and unless 
you had seen him, you cannot imagine how 
very stylish Father Rabbit looked. Little Sis¬ 
ter Squirrel had the most marvelous new bon¬ 
net that ever sat atop a squirrel’s head, and the 
most fetching cape of brown felt, with wee 
gaiters to match—oh, but she was excited with 
all her finery! Some of the field mice even went 
so far as to appear with bows of cherry ribbon 


126 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

tied on their tails. The birds, each and every 
one, had new bonnets and furs and gay bouton¬ 
nieres. 

And, at last, when it seemed that no one 
could possibly wait another single minute, the 
evening for the party came. 

“It couldn’t have been a lovelier night,” 
said Mother Rabbit, as mothers have been say¬ 
ing since time began. “The moon—did you 
ever see a more beautiful moon? Why, it is as 
light as day!” 

“It isn’t made of green cheese, is it 
Mother?” questioned little Sister Rabbit, 
doubting very much if little Brother Rabbit 
had known what he was talking about when he 
said it was. 

“No,” Mother told her, “it most certainly is 
not—only little boys who want to tease their 
sisters say that.” 

So they strolled along through the silent 


CHRISTMAS IN THE FOREST 127 

woods until they came to the spot down by the 
brook where the tree was waiting for them, and 
when they came upon it the sight fairly took 
their breath away. Under the moon’s light it 
shone like something the fairies had made. 
Every branch was festooned daintily with lacy 




















128 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


snow and powdered over with frost crystals. 
From the tips hung long icicle tapers that 
flashed and sparkled with every movement of 
the night wind. The birds had gathered red 
berries from the bushes and tucked them among 
the fringed branches close beside the tree’s own 
cones. Every bit of finery that could be found 
in the woods had been brought to adorn it— 
oh, but it was a beautiful tree! 

And the gifts! When Father Rabbit handed 
them out to the excited group never was there 
greater delight! Some one had brought a whole 
carrot for the Rabbit family; there were scraps 
of soft cloth and bits of twine for the birds’ 
springtime nests; Old Black Crow had an oak 
leaf filled with yellow kernels of corn pre¬ 
sented to him by the Rabbit children; each tiny 
field mouse was given an acorn cup full of 
cheese crumbs which Mr. Redbird had been at 
great pains to bring from the farm beyond the 


CHRISTMAS IN THE FOREST 129 

hill; there was a piece of suet for Wise Old 
Owl; and a new sort of nut for the squirrel chil¬ 
dren and their parents; and there were bits of 
bark and acorn and nuts for everybody. 

“Are we going home now? Is it over?’ 5 
asked little Sister Rabbit anxiously of her 
mother when she had finished the piece of car¬ 
rot which was her share. 

Going home? Indeed they were not! Hadn’t 
Father Rabbit been scratching his ear for days, 
thinking up fun for this party? 

“This way, everybody!” he shouted as he 
wiped the last crumb of carrot from his whisk¬ 
ers. “This way!” And he led them down to the 
icy brook. Such fun! Words could not tell it. 
Such shouts of delight! Such tumbling down 
and getting up again! Such fancy figures as 
Father Rabbit cut! Such long strokes as Brown 
Squirrel took when he went gliding across the 
smooth surface! 


130 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

Mother Rabbit suggested that they leave off 
skating for a while and swing in the grape¬ 
vine swings, or have a game of hide-the-acorn; 
but no one listened to her at all and every one, 
including Father Rabbit,—yes, every one, in¬ 
cluding Father Rabbit, kept right on skating 
until the moon went down. 

Then home again, through the quiet woods, 
they went—so sleepy that it was hard to tell 
whether the stars overhead were really wink¬ 
ing, or the blinking of weary eyes made it 
seem so. 

“Wise Old Owl had a happy thought,” said 
Father Rabbit, with a contented yawn, “when 
he suggested that we have a Christmas tree of 
our own. I think we had better try the plan 
again next year.” 

“Why not?” agreed Mother Rabbit. 

And little Brother and Sister echoed, sleep¬ 
ily, “Why not?” 


DANNY DUCK GIVES HIS 
MOTHER A PRESENT 


DANNY DUCK had six fluffy yellow 
brothers and sisters who lived with him in the 
low house beside the duck pond; but if you had 
asked Mother Brown Duck, when she was half- 
napping on the sunny bank, how many chil¬ 
dren she had, very likely she would have an¬ 
swered absent-mindedly, “One!” Because the 
six small brothers and sisters took so little of 
her time and attention that she was apt to for¬ 
get them. But Danny Duck! Dear me, how 
could she ever overlook him for one single in¬ 
stant ! 

Not that Mother Brown Duck called him 
naughty. No, indeed! She would never have 
permitted either herself or any one else to call 


132 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

him naughty; but he was, she had to admit, 
very trying! 

Every morning when Mother Brown Duck 
lined her family up in an orderly row and 
taught them earnestly just what little ducks 
should and should not do, Danny sat quite 
still with his head tilted attentively to one 
side and a most angelic smile on his funny 
little face. But half an hour later he would 
very likely be found doing some one of the 
very things he had been taught not to do. 

A full hour every morning before Mother 
Brown Duck was ready to get the family up, 
Danny began squirming about, giving disturb¬ 
ing quacks of restlessness; when Mother Duck 
led the way, at last, to the feed yard for break¬ 
fast and six little ducks waddled behind her 
obediently, Danny made all sorts of side trips 
into the weeds and bushes; and when finally, 
she had them one and all safely there, what 


DANNY GIVES A PRESENT 133 

should Danny do but go running about under 
the taller fowl, half upsetting many of them, 
and gobbling more grain than was necessary 
for any small duck. Later, when they went into 
the water and the six little brothers and sisters 
circled about their mother like tiny boats about 
a big ship, Danny swam swiftly out of hearing 
and made the most reckless dives after bits of 
weed and tempting morsels. 

Yes, without a doubt, Danny was trying. 

There he was now—in the very middle of 
the pond. Just a moment ago, when she had 
closed her eyes for a comfortable nap on the 
sunshiny bank, he had been beside her. But 
Old Mr. Drake was with him, and so Mother 
Brown Duck knew he was quite safe. 

All the young ducks about the place had 
been taught that great respect was due Mr. 
Drake; but Danny had a way of making him¬ 
self quite friendly with the stately old gentle- 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


134 

man. When the other small ducks glanced tim¬ 
idly up at him in passing, Danny grinned 
good-naturedly. Perhaps that was the reason 
Mr. Drake liked Danny. At any rate, there 
they were—old Mr. Drake sailing along ma¬ 
jestically with his neck arched royally, and 
Danny, head erect and eyes shining with hap¬ 
piness. 

“Danny,” quacked the old fellow, and 
Danny quivered joyously with expectation, 
for sometimes this was the way Mr. Drake be¬ 
gan to tell a story. “Danny.” 

“Yes sir,” replied Danny with the very best 
of little duck manners. 

“Danny, you and I are friends, aren’t we?’ 

“You bet!” said Danny with the very worst 
little duck manners in the world. 

Mr. Drake looked down at him oddly for a 
moment and then a twinkle came into his eyes 
as he went on, “So we are! So we are! And be- 


DANNY GIVES A PRESENT 135 

cause we are friends, I am going to tell you 
something. 55 

This sounded quite confidential and 
grown-up. Danny puffed out his downy chest 
until it looked as though he had swallowed a 
toadstool whole, and waited breathlessly. Old 
Mr. Drake cleared his throat with a long 
"Ahern! 55 

"Danny, 55 he said, "I do not think you love 
your mother properly. 55 

Poor little Danny Duck! Danny Duck not 
love his mother! Why, her soft feathers over 
him at night were the dearest thing in all the 
world; no sound he had ever heard was so 
sweet as her voice; on the pond he looked at 
her with such pride and said softly to himself, 
"That 5 s my mother! 55 All his little heart grew 
warm with love at just the thought of her. 

"I do love my mother properly! 55 blurted out 
Danny in a tearful voice. 


136 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

Old Mr. Drake cleared his throat again with 
a thoughtful quack. 

“I know, I know,” he agreed. “But, anyway, 
Danny, I want you to swim once around the 
pond and think it over.” 

Danny Duck swam quickly away toward the 
edge of the pond and started on his trip around 
it, more upset and bewildered than he had ever 
been in all his life. Not love his mother! 

“I do love my mother! I do love my mother! 
I do love my mother!” he said over and over to 
himself, keeping time to his paddling. 

Halfway around the pond, what should he 
come upon but the sweetest bit of a crumb 
floating on the water. Another and then an¬ 
other of the same delicious sort led him nearer 
and nearer to the bank, and finally tempted 
him out of the water onto the grass, where two 
little girls sat sewing. And as Danny waddled 


DANNY GIVES A PRESENT 137 

about, picking up their scattered cooky crumbs, 
he listened to the pretty sound of their voices 
as they chattered over their work. 

“I hope my mother will like this towel. It is 
the prettiest thing I knew how to make, but it 
isn’t nearly pretty enough to tell how much I 
love her,” said Little Black Hair. 

“And I hope my mother will like this hand¬ 
kerchief,” answered Little Yellow Hair. “Isn’t 
it nice to have a regular Mother’s Day?” 

Danny Duck quite forgot that he was to 
swim clear around the pond. Instead, he 
plunged into the water with a great splash and 
set out across the very deepest part toward Mr. 
Drake. The moment he came within hearing, 
panting and spluttering, he called out 
abruptly, “What is Mother’s Day?” 

Now Old Mr. Drake didn’t know one single, 
solitary thing more about Mother’s Day than 


138 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

Danny did, but he thought for a minute, took 
a long drink, cleared his throat slowly, and, 
“Mother’s Day?” said he, “Well, it is a day— 
a day especially for mothers.” 

This sounded like a good beginning and 
feeling quite encouraged and rather proud of 
himself, he went on, “Just for mothers, you 
know. A day when—when we do nice things 
for them—” 

“And give them presents?” interrupted 
Danny excitedly. “The little girls over yonder 
are sewing things for their mothers. My mother 
doesn’t like sewed things. What could I give 
my mother?” 

“Well,” was the slow reply, “I know what 
your mother would rather have than anything 
else because I heard her tell Mrs. Gaddy Goose 
so only yesterday.” 

Danny was delighted. 

“What is it? What is it?” he demanded, 


DANNY GIVES A PRESENT 139 

churning the water into ripples in his excite¬ 
ment. 

Old Mr. Drake looked down his long bill at 
his little friend and said, “A nice, quiet, com¬ 
fortable day of rest. That is what she wants 
most, if you ask me, and it is something you 
can so easily give her if you will only pay a bit 
more attention to being obedient.” 

What more he might have suggested we 
shall never know, for just then, across the 
water, came Mother Brown Duck’s voice call¬ 
ing, “Danny! Danny! Come in, my dear!” 

“In a min—” Danny started to call back, 
but right in the middle of it he turned himself 
suddenly and started pell-mell for the bank, 
leaving old Mr. Drake with a broad smile on 
his wise old face. 

If Danny waked a full hour before the rest 
of his family the next morning, no one knew it, 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


140 

for he kept as still as a mouse though it was 
the hardest thing he had ever done. When at 
last they were up and on their way to the barn¬ 
yard, Danny waddled demurely along behind 
his brothers and sisters, looking neither to the 
right nor to the left. In the crowd and confu¬ 
sion of the morning meal he came at once to 
his mother’s side in answer to her “Quack! 
Quack!” and ate what she pointed out. Not 
once did he leave his own family to push and 
scramble about among the other fowl. 

When they went for their swim, Danny 
made one of the obedient little flock beside the 
proud mother, riding the tiny waves in great 
delight and never once going beyond the sound 
of her voice. Did he lag behind when she 
turned toward the bank? Not he! Up he 
hopped on the grass and set himself to work 
arranging his clean wet feathers before the 
the noonday nap. 


DANNY GIVES A PRESENT 141 

Long before dark—in fact while the sky was 
still filled with all the pretty colors that 
Danny loved to watch, Mother Duck led her 
family homeward, nodding a “Good night” to 
a neighbor here, and passing the time of day 
with another there. 

“It has been a fine day!” remarked old Mr. 
Drake, as they met in the path. 

“A wonderful day!” agreed Mrs. Brown 
Duck in her happiest quack. “A most wonder¬ 
ful day, Mr. Drake—quite the pleasantest day 
Lve had in a long time.” 

“A fine family you have there, Mrs. Duck!” 
said the stately old fellow. “All good children, 
I suppose 

“Yes, indeed,” was the quick reply. “Every 
one good! If you should ask me, I really 
couldn’t tell you which one has been the best 
child to-day,” and she looked them over 
proudly. 


142 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 



Old Mr. Drake gave each yellow head a fa¬ 
therly pat in duck fashion and beamed kindly 
upon them all. 

“Good-night, Mrs. Duck!” he quacked. “I 
wish you many more happy days like this one. 
Good-night, children!” And, holding his head 
very erect, as became a fowl of his standing, he 
waddled away. 



MR. PETTIGREW’S CHRISTMAS 

IT NEVER, in all the world, would have 
happened if there had not been, in the big store 
on the corner, so many gay little raincoats that 
Ann’s mother had to make a second trip before 
she could quite decide which one Ann would 
most love to find on her Christmas tree. What 
with all her errands, her stopping to admire 
this, and peeping in at pretty windows to be 
delighted with that, she found it really impos¬ 
sible to make her choice without Ann’s father 
to advise her. And if Ann’s father was to go 
with her, then Judson and Ann must get out 
of the car, too, and be left at some place where 
no thought of gay little raincoats could come 
to them. 

“They can stay in Mr. Pettigrew’s shop,” 

143 


OLD TOWN CLOCK 


144 

said Father, as they hurried up the street, 
which was beginning to sparkle and glow with 
the evening lights. “The very place! Right 
next door—nice and quiet—no danger of not 
finding them in the crowds. Here we are now!” 

Ann and Judson had never been inside the 
tiny shop with its dingy front and untrimmed 
window, tucked in between the tall brick 
buildings, but in a vague way they knew it as 
“Mr. Pettigrew’s Picture Store,” and Mr. Pet¬ 
tigrew himself as a rather lonely old man 
whom they sometimes saw at Grandfather’s. 

Judson swung back the door and Ann 
stepped inside, as shy and inquisitive as a ven¬ 
turesome snowbird. It was not a very long 
shop, and not a very wide shop, but even in the 
dim light they could see that rows and rows of 
pictures hung on the walls. And, indeed, they 
had time to look at several of them before the 


MR. PETTIGREW’S CHRISTMAS 145 

tap, tap, tap in the room beyond stopped and 
Mr. Pettigrew came peering out from behind 
the curtained doorway. Perhaps he was a bit 
disappointed to find only a little boy and girl 
there, and it may be that he was even more dis¬ 
appointed when he found they wanted noth¬ 
ing, but when he saw how interested they were 
in the pictures he said kindly to Judson, “You 
like pictures, do you?” 

“Yes, I do,” was the quick reply, “I like 
them a lot—but Ann just loves them. She’s go¬ 
ing to be an artist when she grows up, I guess. 
You must be pretty busy with so many pic¬ 
tures to sell.” 

“I might be, if I sold them.” Mr. Petti¬ 
grew’s voice sounded hard and a little cross, 
but even so small a boy as Judson could tell 
that the crossness was really a sort of sadness 
and discouragement. 


146 OLD TOWN CLOCK 



YOU LIKE PICTURES, DO YOU*?” 


“Don’t you sell them 4 ?” he asked. 

Mr. Pettigrew gave a short laugh, a laugh 
without one bit of fun in it. 


























































































































MR. PETTIGREW’S CHRISTMAS 147 

“No,” he said, “I don’t. Nobody wants them. 

I 

I like them, but nobody else does.” 

“Oh, everybody loves pictures,” came shyly 
from Ann. “I wish the whole world could see 
this one of the little boy and his boat. Couldn’t 
you put it in your window so people could see 
it as they go by? Couldn’t you?” 

It seemed a very short while to them, this 
visit with the pictures, and then the door 
swung open again and there was Father shak¬ 
ing hands kindly with their owner. Mother 
took one quick glance around the room. 

“Why, Mr. Pettigrew, I had no idea you 
had all these lovely things in here!” And she 
went about, admiring them in the sweetest way 
until Father finally bundled them all out the 
door with a cheery “Good-night.” 

When they had gone, and he turned in again 
from the gay hurry and flurry of the passing 
shoppers, the tiny shop seemed very quiet and 


148 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

empty to Mr. Pettigrew. But standing before 
Ann’s favorite picture, looking at it long and 
thoughtfully, slowly the loneliness and stern¬ 
ness faded out of his face. 

“She’s right!” he said softly to himself. 
“She’s right! I’m a selfish old man. Here I’ve 
been wishing I could go out and do some big 
thing to help the world along, and I won’t 
even show them my pictures. But I will, I will! 
If I can’t give toys to the children and baskets 
to the needy, I can put beautiful pictures in 
the window for them to look at as they go by.” 

Mr. Pettigrew’s face was becoming amaz¬ 
ingly cheerful, and a pleasant sparkly light 
was in his eyes as he peered up through the 
half-light at his treasures. 

Next morning, a full hour before his usual 
opening time, came Mr. Pettigrew, and with 
him he brought a bundle of cleaning-rags, a 
stout scrubbing-brush, and a cake of soap. In 


MR. PETTIGREW’S CHRISTMAS 149 

less time than it takes to tell it, he was in the 
window, wiping away the dust and sweeping 
out the crumpled papers and faded advertise¬ 
ments which had been there. And then, oh, 
then, such a scouring as he did give the glass 
front, stepping back to look at it critically this 
way and that way, rubbing and polishing until 
it shone clear and bright. 

Then Mr. Pettigrew reached up carefully 
and took “The Young Mariner” from his hook, 
and he, in turn, had his dusting and polishing 
before he was put into the window. Almost be¬ 
fore he was well settled there, a boy no older 
than “The Young Mariner” himself, with a 
bundle of papers under his arm, stopped out¬ 
side, and with his nose pressed flat against the 
pane, stood lost in joyous admiration. 

“Hey, come see the fellow with the boat!” 
he called down the street to another paper boy, 
and to himself, he said, “It’s lucky I came this 


150 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

way. I wouldn’t have missed seeing that pic¬ 
ture for a good deal.” 

Mr. Pettigrew brought “Baby Stuart” and 
he brought “The Horse Fair” to keep “The 
Young Mariner” company, and more than 
once he said to himself what a pity it was that 
the window was so small; for, now that he was 
about it, there were dozens of pictures that he 
wanted to share with every one. 

When the window was quite finished (and 
what a window it was!) Mr. Pettigrew found 
himself dusting off the counter, and polishing 
the glass showcase, and finally scrubbing the 
floor; so that by the time people were going 
past to work he had rosy cheeks and the cheer¬ 
iest of smiles, while the shop seemed to be 
wearing a sort of rosy smile, too. 

The first to stop in front of the window was 
a trim little shop girl who gave Baby Stuart a 
pretty, friendly smile; later, a brusque gentle- 


MR. PETTIGREW’S CHRISTMAS 151 

man, bundled to his ears in a fur coat, stood 
for fully five minutes enjoying “The Horse 
Fair”; and at noontime, a woman who was 
stationed out in front selling holly wreaths 
came in to thank Mr. Pettigrew. 

“It’s a pretty cold, lonesome job usually,” 
she said, “but I didn’t mind it a bit this morn¬ 
ing, for I had that dear little boy in your win¬ 
dow to keep me company.” 

One, two, three customers came in, and the 
money drawer had to be emptied of the string 
and tacks which had been at home there for so 
long. Small sales they were, but quite large 
enough to start Mr. Pettigrew whistling. Mr. 
Pettigrew had not been whistling for ever so 
long; and what with the pleasant sound of it, 
and the jingle of small coins, and the sun shin¬ 
ing through the spotless window, and the 
friendly faces which now and then looked in, 
noontime found him eating his lunch in the 


152 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

tiny workshop with the heartiest appetite and 
enjoyment. 

It was mid-afternoon when Ann’s mother 
came in, and what should she say, almost be¬ 
fore the door was closed behind her, but, “Mr. 
Pettigrew, I want to buy ‘The Young Mar¬ 
iner’ you have in the window. It is a beautiful 
copy. Ann has talked of nothing else since she 
saw it last night.” 

Mr. Pettigrew said, “Yes, yes, indeed,” in 
the most absent-minded way. His smile was 
only a sort of a half-hearted one, for all the 
while he was saying to himself, “The holly 
lady— O dear! O dear!—she needs ‘The 
Young Mariner’—he made her morning easy 
—she likes to have him there.” 

And what did he do but excuse himself po¬ 
litely to Ann’s mother and rush pell-mell out 
on to the sidewalk to tell the holly lady; and 


MR. PETTIGREW’S CHRISTMAS 153 

what did she say but, u Isn’t that splendid! A 
sale! I’m that glad for you! Another picture 
will do just as well for me.” 

After "The Young Mariner” had been 
wrapped up, Ann’s mother decided that she 
must have two little gold-framed spring 
scenes; then, a shepherd with his lambs, for 
Grandfather; and then— "But I must get out 
of this lovely place,” she said, "or I shall be 
wanting them all.” 

Mr. Pettigrew had not the heart to leave his 
pictures in darkness there in the window when 
the night came on, for, said he to himself, 
"Some one else may come by who would like to 
see them.” So he turned the lights on, one by 
one, and then he went away down the street 
to his home more briskly than he had gone in 
many a day, thinking perhaps a little of what 
was in the small money drawer, but more—oh, 


OLD TOWN CLOCK' 


154 

much more—of the friendly words and com¬ 
panionship that had come his way that day. 

In no time at all Mr. Pettigrew got quite ac¬ 
customed to the sound of his door turning on 
its squeaky hinge at all hours; but as every¬ 
thing about the shop became daily and hourly 
more orderly and inviting, it came about that 
before long he oiled the squeaky hinge and 
hung above the door a tiny bell which tinkled 
happily when any one entered. 

Little by little the money drawer filled; one 
by one the pictures disappeared from the walls; 
until one lovely snowy day when the shoppers 
were trotting briskly up and down the street, 
bumping into each other with all sorts of odd¬ 
looking bundles, and excusing each other with 
good-natured smiles, Mr. Pettigrew locked his 
shop door for a few minutes and skipped hur¬ 
riedly over to the bank. 

“Hello, Pettigrew! A Merry Christmas!” 


MR. PETTIGREW’S CHRISTMAS 155 

cried Judson’s father from behind his funny 
little glass window. And as Mr. Pettigrew 
reached in and laid down a roll of bills, “Busi¬ 
ness picking up some for you?” he asked. 
“That’s fine! What have you been doing?” 

“What have I been doing?” repeated Mr. 
Pettigrew slowly. “Well, it’s a funny thing. 
You see, I decided to give the people of this 
town a sort of a Christmas gift by putting 
some pictures in my window for them to look 
at as they went by shopping; and they up and 
bought them—yes sir, bought them and carried 
them off home to put on Christmas trees, and— 
well, I calculate my pictures are going to have a 
happy holiday. I haven’t a doubt they got good 
and tired of stopping there in that shop of mine 
so long with no one but me for company.” Then 
he hurried away, Whistling a little Christmasy 
tune that he had forgotten for a good many 
holiday seasons. 


156 OLD TOWN CLOCK 

“I wonder if we have room for one more at 
our Christmas table?” asked Ann’s father that 
night at dinner. 

“Of course—Mother always has room to 
squeeze in one more,” Judson informed him 
before Mother had time to say, “Indeed we 
have. Who is it?” 

“Mr. Pettigrew,” he said, and Ann’s eyes 
shone as he went on, “He is an old friend of 
Grandfather’s, and I believe would enjoy be¬ 
ing here.” 

So that is how it came about that on Christ¬ 
mas Day, at precisely fifteen minutes before 
dinner time, Mr. Pettigrew, all spick and span, 
carrying a picture carefully beneath his arm, 
and whistling a carol softly to himself, came 
up the walk to Ann’s house. And what a day he 
made of it! He cracked nuts and he cracked 
jokes; he told Ann any number of stories about 
pictures that she loved; he petted the kitten 


i 


MR. PETTIGREW’S CHRISTMAS 157 

and played with Judson’s dog; he joined in all 
their old games and taught them some new 
ones. 

Then when bedtime came, he trotted off 
home, turning over in his happy mind a plan 
that was slowly coming to him. Tucked snugly 
in his bed, he dreamed a perfect jumble of 
dancing dreams, and through them all went 
fresh shop signs, and pots of paint, and the 
jingle of his shop bell, and—best of all— 
whole flocks of little boys and girls peeping in 
at his window full of pictures. 


And that’s all for this time. 






V 





















































































































































